THE    SEARCHERS 
JOHN  FOSTER 


BY 

JOHN  FOSTER 

AUTHOR  OF  "THE  BRIGHT  EYES 
OF  DANGER,"  ETC. 


NEW  XSJT  YORK 
GEORGE   H.  DORAN   COMPANY 


COPYRIGHT.  1920. 
BY  GEORGE  H.  DORAN  COMPANY 


PRINTED  IN  THE  UNITED  STATES  OF  AMERICA 


THE    SEARCHERS 


2135469 


THE  SEARCHERS 


PROLOGUE 

MY  friend  Keene-Leslie  has  often  urged  me  to  tell 
the  story  of  the  strange  experiences  which  befell  us 
a  few  years  ago.  I  would  willingly  have  turned  the 
task  over  to  him,  but  he  is  a  busy  man  in  his  peculiar 
calling,  and  I  could  not  expect  him  to  devote  his  hard- 
won  snatches  of  leisure  to  the  chronicling  of  his  own 
or  other  folks'  adventures.  After  procrastinating  aa 
long  as  I  decently  could,  at  last  I  gave  my  partner 
in  adventure  a  promise  that  I  would  tackle  the  story 
as  soon  as  I  could  bring  myself  to  remain  long  enough 
indoors.  My  bondage  held  compensations,  for  it  was 
my  good  fortune  to  write  this  narrative  in  a  well-be- 
loved corner  of  the  earth,  at  a  library  window  which 
frames  a  picture  of  an  old,  bird-haunted  garden;  in 
the  middle  distance  the  sun-shot  links  of  a  Highland 
river;  and  beyond,  heaved  against  the  clouds,  the  great 
shoulders  of  the  mountain-wardens  enclosing  the  hori- 
zon above  the  long  Spey  valley. 

On  king's  highway,  lonely  bridle-path  and  sheep- 
track,  through  silent  forest,  over  hill  and  moor,  I  have 
wandered  across  old  Scotland  from  the  Braes  of  Glen- 
livet  until  the  wind  flung  me  a  waft  of  seaweed  from 
the  Linnhe  Loch.  The  enchanted  road  has  led  me 
through  a  hundred  bonny  glens,  but  of  them  all,  Gleann 
Ciuin — The  Quiet  Glen — calls  clearest  to  my  heart, 

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for,  its  charm  and  solitude  apart,  it  is  my  "kenned" 
country,  the  land  of  my  forebears,  and  its  river  and 
hill-burns  still  sing,  as  in  my  boyhood,  of  happiness 
and  holidays  and  home. 

Ciuin  is  not  its  real  name.  You  may  search  map 
and  gazetteer  in  vain  for  it  and  other  places  in  the  tale. 
So  you  may  the  parish  records  for  the  names  of  the 
men  whose  fortunes  are  followed  in  it.  There  are 
a  few  people  left  who  shun  the  limelight.  Enough, 
therefore,  to  say  that  the  Glen  hides  near  where  three 
noble  Scots  counties  join  hands;  and,  looking  south- 
wards from  its  uplands,  if  the  mists  are  not  trailing, 
the  eye,  following  the  dark  line  of  ancient  woods,  past 
vivid  green  patches  of  "brae-set"  crofts,  past  the  birch- 
clad  foothills,  mounts  to  the  solitary  places  of  the 
mountains,  haunts  of  golden  eagle  and  ptarmigan, 
where,  summer  and  winter,  the  lonely  corries  that 
neighbour  the  high  tops  of  the  Cairngorms  are  slashed 
with  virgin  snow. 

In  the  Glen  stands  the  country-house  called,  in  the 
Gaelic,  Tigh-na-Sith ;  in  the  lowland  Scots,  the  Bield. 
The  word  is  a  full  one,  conjuring  up  tranquil  visions 
of  a  house  of  peace,  shelter,  content,  voices  of  friends, 
the  altar-fire  of  a  hearth.  Its  name  chimes  with  its 
setting,  for  the  old  house  hides  in  a  green  fold  off  the 
beaten  track,  under  the  lee  of  the  southern  slope  of  a 
burly  hill,  screened  by  pine  woods  from  the  gale,  so 
near  the  selvage  of  the  moor  that  the  heather  creeps 
close  to  the  gates  and  on  still  autumn  mornings  one 
may  be  wakened  by  the  call  of  the  grouse.  "Into  Glen 
Ciuin  and  out  of  the  world,"  so  runs  the  old-word  in 
the  North;  and  indeed,  when  the  velvet  dusk  is  clos- 
ing round  The  Bield  and  the  warm-lit  squares  of  its 
windows  welcome  me  home,  many  a  time  I  ponder  the 
strange  chain  of  events  which  brought  the  persons  of  its 


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drama  together  on  so  sheltered  and  remote  a  stage. 
Doubtless,  the  place  had  its  share  of  unrest  in  the 
wild  old  days  beyond  the  Highland  Line.  A  dark 
memory  of  the  Wolf  of  Badenoch  lingers  in  the  rhyme 
known  to  a  few  of  the  curious  in  folklore: 

The  Wolf  he  rides  wi'  four-score  men, 
Black  be  his  tryst  and  black  his  en' ; 
Red  runs  Spey  and  red's  the  sky 
In  Ciuin,  when  the  Wolf  rides  by. 

In  later  times  the  Glen  saw  its  clansmen  march  away 
to  join  Montrose  or  Tearlach,  many  of  them  never 
to  carry  claymore  home  again,  their  beds  in  the  heather 
wider  than  in  castle  or  shieling.  But  these  ancient 
strifes  are  dead,  and  to-day  The  Bield  rests  in  its  quiet 
eddy,  hardly  vexed  by  a  ripple  from  the  great  current 
of  the  world.  Yet,  not  so  long  ago,  its  tranquillity  was 
suddenly  broken,  and  there  came,  in  consequence,  some 
eventful  enough  weeks  to  my  friend  Anthony  Keene- 
Leslie  and  myself. 

The  old  house  is  now  mine.  It  contains  some  things 
of  interest  to  the  antiquary  and  the  sportsman,  but  I 
give  the  place  of  honour  to  an  old  brass  casket  which 
rests  under  a  glass  case  in  my  sanctum.  The  exquisite 
fifteenth-century  craftsmanship  on  its  border  appeals 
to  the  expert  in  Dinanderie,  but  the  ordinary  man 
might  not  give  the  casket  a  second  glance. 

Yet  my  eyes  often  turn  towards  it.  Centuries  have 
died  since,  jealously  guarded,  it  set  out  under  the 
benison  of  a  great  name,  and  I  am  now  to  tell  its  dark 
story,  and  of  the  share  which  Keene-Leslie  and  I — 
not  forgetting  Dr.  Hall — took  in  strange  affairs,  meet- 
ings with  crafty  and  violent  men,  stratagems  and  spoils. 


CHAPTER  I 

To  a  romantic,  the  quest  of  hidden  treasure  may- 
conjure  up  palms  and  the  tropic  moon  mirrored  in  a 
still  lagoon,  the  "peacock  seas  of  the  buccaneer"  and 
the  boom  of  far  Southern  surf,  with  a  schooner  in  the 
offing,  like  enough ;  and  if  your  romantic  be  of  the  true 
never-grow-old  breed,  he  shall  hear  the  sharpening  of 
cutlasses,  strange  oaths,  and  one  of  the  crew  singing 
"Ho!  for  the  Spanish  Main"  out  on  the  dizzy  yard- 
arm  as  the  schooner  heels  to  the  Trades.  But  the 
winds  of  chance  have  set  the  course  of  this  tale  else- 
where. Let  our  romantic  put  the  tiller  of  his  fancy 
about  and  make  his  first  port  of  call  in  one  of  the 
windy  streets  climbing  the  steep  slope  of  the  "New 
Town"  of  Edinburgh,  where  the  eye,  looking  down 
the  hill  from  the  city's  heart,  finds  a  lifting  sense  of 
distance  and  escape  from  the  pavement  in  the  picture 
of  the  blue  floor  of  the  Firth,  the  Fife  hills,  and  the 
sails  of  ships  seeking  harbour  or  heading  for  open 
sea.  The  ranks  of  a  heterogeneous  regiment  of  shops, 
from  print-sellers  to  public-houses,  straggle  and  thin 
out  after  passing  the  cool  green  of  Queen  Street  Gar- 
dens, before  handing  the  street  over  to  lawyers'  grimy- 
windowed  offices  and  rows  of  tall  dwelling-houses  with 
flights  of  steps  from  their  door,  bridging  railed  sunken 
basements. 

Some  of  the  doors  display  little  brass  plates  which 
announce  with  economy  of  language  that  there  reside 
within  members  of  the  Scottish  Bar.  Mine  bore  the 
inscription,  "Mr.  Neil  Forbes,  Advocate."  It  now 

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hides  a  tarnished  face  in  the  dusty  exile  of  some  lum- 
ber-room ;  but  once,  in  the  heyday  of  its  youth,  it  was 
the  newest  and  brightest  in  all  that  hopeful  street. 
The  familiar  plate  on  many — too  many — doors  in 
Edinburgh  conveys  little  or  nothing  to  the  layman  of 
the  status  of  its  owner;  but  from  the  street  itself  and 
the  number  of  "stairs  up" — the  height  of  the  rookery 
where  the  legal  bird  nests — any  lawyer's  clerk  can  clas- 
sify the  owners  of  the  brass  plates  with  deadly  swift- 
ness and  accuracy.  So  it  is  written  that  Jura  Street 
is  dedicated,  not  exactly  to  the  juniors,  but  a  large  sub- 
division thereof — the  young  and  struggling,  the  young 
and  lazy,  the  young  and  unlucky,  all  those  who  are 
described  in  the  polite  euphemism  as  "not  in  full  prac- 
tice." 

Behold  me  on  a  raw  February  evening  alone  in  my 
bachelor  quarters,  three  stairs  up,  in  No.  19  of  the 
street.  I  should  love  to  present  a  picture  of  myself 
immersed  in  study,  my  table  snowed  under  by  docu- 
ments, corrugations  on  my  young  brow  through  over- 
work, a  pile  of  "papers"  awaiting  my  sagacious  at- 
tack. Sed  major  veritas.  These  things  were  absent, 
except  the  corrugations,  which  were  certainly  not  born 
of  having  too  much  to  do.  In  truth,  I  was  sitting  by  a 
sulky  fire,  a  prey  to  gloomy  thoughts,  doing  nothing 
more  profitable  than  burning  tobacco.  Briefs  I  had 
none.  Until  lately,  some  house  property  I  owned  had 
brought  me  close  on  a  couple  of  hundred  a  year — 
enough  to  live  on.  But  there  came  an  evil  day  when 
I  rose  to  the  Devil's  best-dressed  fly,  the  notion  of 
making  money  without  sweating  for  it.  The  details 
of  how  this  came  about  are  now  of  little  concern.  The 
central  fact  is  that  I  borrowed  as  much  as  I  could  on 
my  property  and  put  the  proceeds  into  an  adventure, 
felicitously  christened  "The  Running  Target  Mine." 


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If  any  of  the  shareholders  of  the  ingenious  contrap- 
tion happens  to  read  this,  I  tender  him  fraternal  sym- 
pathy. My  outlook  was  as  chilly  as  the  February 
night,  for  I  had  just  interviewed  the  family  lawyer. 
He  is  self-made,  hails  from  the  practical  North-East, 
and  his  countenance — as  hard  as  his  head — has  never 
been  able  to  conceal  his  inability  to  fathom  the  strange 
people  who  cannot  take  care  of  the  bawbees. 

We  discussed  ways  and  means  until  it  was  appal- 
lingly clear  that  I  should  be  forced  to  sell  my  little 
patrimony,  and  now  the  result  of  my  "deal"  was  pain- 
fully easy  to  grasp.  My  bank-book  informed  me  that 
I  possessed  forty-seven  pounds,  eleven  shillings  and 
fourpence.  The  rest  of  my  capital  had  vanished  in 
less  than  a  couple  of  months  into  the  pockets  of  the 
riff-raff  of  the  Stock  Exchange.  Here  ended  the  first 
lesson. 

The  knowledge  that  I  was  alone  to  blame  for  being 
on  a  lee  shore  may  have  been  a  powerful  illuminant 
•in  a  revaluation  of  myself,  but  it  was  as  a  farthing  dip 
in  the  process  of  getting  rid  of  my  troubles.  The  more 
I  pondered  a  way  out,  the  darker  it  grew.  I  got  a  few 
guineas  for  law  reporting  and  occasional  articles  for 
the  newspapers  and  magazines,  but  I  never  had  made 
more  than  a  pittance  at  the  bar,  and  though  I  was 
sanguine  enough,  a  merciless  clairvoyance  told  me  that 
I  never  would.  I  was  near  the  end  of  my  tether.  The 
thought  (I  suppose)  ought  to  have  left  me  cold,  but 
I  was  not  so  dashed  as  the  state  of  my  affairs  may 
suggest.  Thank  Heaven,  resilient  youth  sees  visions 
of  blue  sky  and  open  water  through  the  roughest 
weather.  If  empty  pockets  were  hateful,  they  were 
by  no  means  the  blackest  things  in  a  world  of  com- 
pensations. I  thankfully  reflected  t^at  I  had  been 
spared  the  worst  of  all  punishments,  the  spectacle  of 


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others  suffering  through  my  want  of  sense.  Notwith- 
standing my  bad  miss  at  the  Running  Target,  I  had  a 
vague  belief  in  myself,  in  the  mysterious  something 
which  people,  especially  when  they  are  alluding  to 
their  neighbours'  success,  are  accustomed  to  call 
"luck."  The  wolf  was  not  actually  snuffing  at  the 
door  and  as  I  had  no  notion  of  meeting  trouble  half- 
way, I  tackled  a  Report  with  what  concentration  I 
could.  I  was  in  the  middle  of  it  when  a  knock  sounded 
on  my  door. 

In  many  ingenious  narratives  where  the  young  and 
briefless  one  is  sitting  alone  and  a  knock  is  heard,  Des- 
tiny (ignoring  professional  etiquette)  conveniently  ap- 
pears in  the  guise  of  a  mysterious,  frequently  a  beau- 
tiful client,  and  hey  presto!  from  that  moment  fame 
and  fortune  are  his.  But  the  knock  heralded  nothing 
more  dramatic  than  my  landlady's  diminutive  "slavey," 
who  brought  me  a  couple  of  missives.  One  was  a  bill, 
which  I  put  beside  its  depressing  brethren  in  their  lair 
behind  the  clock  on  the  chimneypiece.  There  was  not 
much  room  for  it.  To  my  delight,  the  other  was  a 
note  from  Keene-Leslie  asking  me  to  dine  with  him 
at  the  club  that  evening.  He  had  just  arrived  from 
London  and  had  sent  the  note  by  a  messenger  on  the 
off-chance  of  my  being  at  home  and  disengaged.  I 
scribbled  a  line  accepting  my  old  school-fellow's  invita- 
tion. I  had  not  seen  or  heard  of  him  for  a  long  time, 
but  I  never  put  his  name  on  the  lengthening  mental 
register  of  the  men  who  have  dropped  out,  for  An- 
thony Keene-Leslie,  busy  idler,  traveller,  sportsman, 
dreamer,  man  of  action,  had  a  way  of  turning  up  un- 
expectedly, debonair,  cheerful,  bright-eyed  and  re- 
sourceful as  in  our  days  at  school. 

Long-legged,  lean,  muscular,  with  a  steady  brown 
eye — sometimes  disconcertingly  wide  open — he  always 


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reminded  me  of  a  good-tempered  looking  deerhound. 
Always  well  turned  out  and  always  fit,  he  enjoyed  life 
mightily.  He  had  the  digestion  of  an  ostrich  and 
could  smoke  the  blackest  of  Burmah  cheroots  before 
breakfast ! 

Brains  were  his  in  plenty.  Had  he  willed,  I  believe 
"Tony"  would  have  made  a  fine  special  correspondent, 
but  he  preferred  the  life  of  a  free-lance,  and  for  a 
time  I  used  to  see  his  name  under  magazine  articles  on 
sport  and  travel  in  remote  parts  of  the  earth.  He  had 
more  than  a  competence — jute  and  ground  rents — and 
could  well  afford  to  gratify  an  incurable  restlessness 
of  mind  and  body.  Danger  drew  him  like  a  magnet. 
He  had  been  mountaineer,  pearl-fisher,  Arctic  explorer, 
big-game  hunter  in  all  sorts  of  savage  places,  and  had 
done  excellent  work  for  a  great  newspaper  in  the 
Russo-Japanese  War.  After  that  he  had  loafed  about 
London,  so  he  told  me,  doing  nothing,  and  trying  to 
do  it  well,  and  the  last  I  had  heard  of  him  was  from 
a  man  who  had  met  him  strolling  on  the  Ostergade  in 
Copenhagen,  well  set  up  and  immaculate  as  of  yore, 
looking  as  if  he  had  never  roughed  it  for  a  day  in  his 
life.  Yet,  with  all  his  restlessness,  there  was  nothing 
febrile  in  his  blood.  My  old  friend  was  a  cool-headed, 
warm-hearted  and  courageous  gentleman. 

As  I  had  been  dining  too  much  of  late  in  the  poor 
company  of  my  own  thoughts,  I  welcomed  whole- 
heartedly the  chance  of  turning  my  back  on  myself  and 
my  affairs  in  Tony's  society.  Consideration  of  the  Re- 
port was  promptly  adjourned.  In  half-an-hour  I  was 
on  my  way  to  the  club. 

I  have  good  reason  to  remember  the  weather  on 
that  February  evening.  It  was  cold  and  misty;  a  raw 
haar  was  stealing  up  from  the  Firth  of  Forth;  the 
street  lamps  looked  as  if  they  had  been  wrapped  in 


1 6  THE  SEARCHERS 

dirty  cotton-wool.  Edinburgh  is  blest  by  comparison 
with  London  or  Glasgow  in  its  freedom  from  fog,  but 
there  is  an  undeniable  thoroughness  in  some  of  its 
haars.  After  the  comfortable  warmth  of  my  rooms, 
the  clammy  air  made  me  shudder,  and  I  was  not  sorry 
to  reach  the  shelter  of  the  club  and  to  find  the  wan- 
derer stretching  his  long  legs  by  the  hall  fire. 

There  were  a  good  many  men  dining,  but  we  got  a 
table  to  ourselves,  and  fell  a-talking  of  old  times  and 
old  friends  with  great  zest.  The  dinner  was  good 
(trust  Tony  for  that!) — whitebait,  a  Madras  curry, 
and  a  saddle  of  mutton — and  the  wine  was  a  Clicquot 
of  a  classic  year.  By  the  time  we  had  settled  in  arm- 
chairs with  our  cigars  and  Keene-Leslie  had  begun  to 
discourse  of  his  wanderings,  I  had  almost  forgotten 
that  there  were  such  things  in  the  world  as  bad  weather 
and  the  Running  Target  Mine. 

My  host  was  a  deft  raconteur.  His  yarns  led  me 
far  afield — Newfoundland  and  days  after  caribou; 
evenings  by  lonely  lakes;  camp-fires  in  spruce  woods; 
big  game  in  Rhodesia;  whales  in  the  Arctic;  woodcock 
in  Albania. 

"I  heard  of  you  being  in  Copenhagen  the  other 
day,"  I  said. 

"Yes,  I  was  there.  I  have  an  interest  in  a  lease  of 
some  quarries  in  a  couple  of  islets  in  the  Gulf  of  Both- 
nia. Fancy  bringing  granite  to  Aberdeen!  But  we 
do  it,  and  it  pays,  Neil.  Well,  I  was  at  Copenhagen 
after  my  first  and  only  visit  to  those  God-forsaken 
rocks,  and  looked  up  'Fatty'  Willis.  You  remember 
him  at  Cambridge?  He  was  in  the  Foreign  Office, 
before  he  succeeded  to  the  family  place  and  took  to 
rock-gardening  and. prize  pigs." 

"I  remember  him.     He  pulled  'Four'  in  my  year.". 

"The  same.     I  helped  him  a  bit  in  a  little  affair. 


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The  details  don't  matter,  but  I  got  a  letter  of  thanks 
from  his  Chief,  and  an  invitation  to  go  and  see  him. 
I  did,  and  the  upshot  is  that  I  am  "now  a  tracker." 

"A  whatter?" 

"You'll  never  guess !"  He  bent  forward  and  whis- 
pered in  mock  heroics,  "I  am  one  of  the  cogs  of  the 
great  machine  of  Empire,  gentlemen,  on  which — er — 
on  which — er — finish  the  cliche,  Neil." 

I  fell  into  his  humour.  "On  which  the  sun  never 
sets;  of  whose  destinies  you,  gentlemen,  the  free-born 
electors  of — of  Glauryhole,  are  the  custodians — you, 
whom  I  am  proud  to  desire  to  represent  in  the  Pal- 
ladium of  British  liberty." 

"Loud  applause!  You  may  be  in  the  Palladium 
yet,  if  it  doesn't  improve." 

"Be  serious  for  a  moment,  Tony!  What  do  you 
mean?" 

"I  am  one  of  the  members  of  His  Britannic  Majes- 
ty's Secret  Service ;  but,  I  pray  you,  do  not  form  a  hasty 
impression  of  these  gentlemen  from  the  shilling  thril- 
lers. I  do  not  pay  calls  upon  ambassadors  at  3  A.M., 
modestly  but  triumphantly  bearing  lost  papers  of  State. 
No  Ruritanian  princess  has  insisted  on  bestowing  her 
lily-white  hand  on  me.  I  have  had  no  picture-house 
escapades.  No!  Mine  are  minor  operations  out  of 
the  limelight,  chiefly  concerned  with  finding  out  what 
the  fellows  on  the  same  job,  employed  by  other  Pow- 
ers, are  up  to.  Hunting  the  hunters,  y'know.  Keep- 
ing notes  of  a  few  suspected  people,  and  all  that  sort 
of  thing." 

I  had  an  idea  that  Tony's  airy  "and  all  that  sort  of 
thing"  meant  a  good  deal. 

"Been  in  any  'scraps'?" 

"One  or  two,  but  all  in  the  day's  work;"  and  he  told 
me  of  the  disappearance  and  the  recovery  of  one  of 


1 8  THE  SEARCHERS 

our  attaches  in  a  European  capital;  of  illustrious 
"crooks;"  of  strange  moves  on  the  chessboard  of  for- 
eign politics;  the  thin,  inflammable  curtain  between  the 
nations  and  the  furnace  of  war.  They  were  matters 
which  are  not  seen  in  the  newspapers,  and  they  made 
me  stare. 

"I  like  the  job.  It  suits  me.  I'm  a  mixture  of  im- 
patience and  perseverance.  Something  new  to  rub 
one's  wits  on  turns  up  every  now  and  then."  He  puffed 
meditatively  at  his  cigar  for  a  minute.  "You  remem- 
ber the  accomplished  Mr.  John  Vandeleur's  verdict  in 
the  New  Arabian  Nights,"  he  went  on.  "Let  me  re- 
call it.  'I  have  hunted  most  things,'  quoth  that  re- 
doubtable rascal,  'from  men  and  women  down  to  mos- 
quitoes; I  have  dived  for  coral;  I  have  followed  both 
whales  and  tigers;  and  a  diamond  is  the  tallest  quarry 
of  the  lot.'  Well,  my  friend,  I  have  the  temerity  to 
differ  from  him.  I  have  found  man-hunts  more  inter- 
esting than  the  trail  of  beasts  or  jewels,  and  I  have 
chased  all  three." 

"The  life  agrees  with  you,  Tony!  You  look  un- 
commonly fit." 

"To  be  frank,  old  man,  I  can't  say  that  you  look 
quite  'in  the  pink.'  P'raps  you  need  a  holiday.  Seems 
to  me  you're  a  bit  pulled  down.  Anything  the  matter?" 

"Oh,  I'm  fit  enough,  I  think,"  I  replied. 

"Um-m!  Your  statement  lacks  conviction.  Over- 
work?" 

I  smiled. 

"  Tina,  VenusT  " 

"Nothing  so  interesting,"  I  confessed. 

"What  is  it?     Do  let  me  have  it,  my  son." 

"It's  a  purely  personal  affair  and  of  no  interest — " 

" — No  interest!  You  know  me  better  than  that 
Let  me  have  it,  Neil." 


THE  SEARCHERS  19 

I  hesitated  for  a  moment,  but  Tony's  brown  eye 
never  left  mine,  and  I  blurted  out,  "I've  been  chasing 
wild-geese  on  the  Stock  Exchange.  Write  me  down 
an  ass!  That's  all!"  Then  I  gave  him  the  bones  of 
The  Running  Target  story.  The  recital  was  disagree- 
able but  it  had  the  merit  of  being  short. 

When  I  finished,  "I'm  sorry,  Neil,"  said  he.  "The 
old  definition  that  'a  mine  is  a  hole  in  the  ground,  fre- 
quently owned  by  a  liar,'  is  true.  May  I  help  you? 
You  can  count  on  me."  He  said  many  kind  things 
which  may  be  guessed. 

"No,  my  friend.  I'm  going  to  stick  it  out,  and  mean- 
while put  up  with  the  bed  I've  unmade." 

"Like  the  lower  deck,  'Grouse  and  carry  on.'  Well, 
'Wull  to  Cupar,  maun  to  Cupar';  but  if  ever  you're 
down  to  hard-pan,  or  anywhere  near  it,  let  me  know, 
even  if  I'm  at  the  ends  of  the  earth.  Promise  me." 
He  meant  what  he  said  and  I  promised,  little  thinking 
that  Fate  the  dealer  was  already  busy  with  the  cards. 

It  was  midnight  when  I  gave  Tony  "Good-night," 
after  promising  to  lunch  next  day  with  him  at  the 
Caledonian. 

An  unwelcome  surprise  awaited  me  when  the  hall- 
porter  opened  the  door.  The  haar  which  had  been 
creeping  up  from  the  Firth  in  the  earlier  hours  had 
grown  into  a  North  Sea  fog — so  dense  that  the  line 
of  the  street  and  even  the  pavement  at  my  feet  were 
hidden,  and  my  hand,  held  at  arm's  length,  was  scarcely 
visible. 


CHAPTER  II 

FEELING  strangely  alone  in  the  stillness,  I  began  to 
grope  my  way  homeward  slowly  on  foot.  The  fog 
filled  the  streets  from  roofs  to  pavement  with  a  blind- 
ing vapour.  I  had  slipped  an  electric-torch  into  my 
pocket  before  starting  for  the  club,  but  its  light  was  a 
mere  pin-point  against  the  impenetrable  grey  wall. 
Foot  by  foot,  blindly,  but  without  a  blind  man's  assur- 
ance, I  crept  along  until  I  came  to  the  corner  of  the 
street  which  led  northward  to  my  quarters.  It  must 
have  been  close  on  half-an-hour  before  I  got  my  bear- 
ings, but  I  managed  to  reach  the  railings  of  Queen 
Street  Gardens,  and  there,  within  a  few  minutes'  walk 
of  home  and  with  a  hand  on  the  railing,  I  made  quicker 
progress.  I  had  not  met  a  soul  since  I' left  Tony,  nor 
had  I  heard  a  sound  except  the  melancholy  voices  of 
the  sirens  from  the  blind  ships  in  the  fog-wrapped 
Firth. 

Suddenly  my  fingers  touched  something  alive,  and 
my  wrist  was  gripped  by  a  strong  hand.  I  am  not  a 
weakling.  With  a  wrench  I  freed  myself,  and  flashed 
the  electric-torch  on  the  man,  my  mind  made  up  for 
a  struggle.  It  was  long  odds  on  his  being  a  thief  who 
welcomed  the  fog  as  an  ally,  but  to  my  "What  the 
devil  do  you  mean!"  there  came  a  stammered,  "Par- 
don, signore!"  The  torch  showed  me  a  tall,  shaven, 
dark-eyed  man.  He  repeated  his  "Pardon,  signore!" 
and  added,  "A  vile  night,  and  you  made  me  'fraid." 

He  probably  spoke  the  truth,  for  my  silent  approach 
in  my  rubber  overshoes  may  have  startled  him.  His 

20 


THE  SEARCHERS  21 

face  was  very  pale,  and  I  remember  the  light  from  the 
torch  glinting  on  a  pair  of  brass  rings  in  his  ears.  From 
these  and  his  clothes  I  put  him  down  to  be  a  sailor  and 
his  use  of  the  word  "signore"  told  me  his  race. 

"No  harm  done,"  I  said  curtly,  as  I  moved  on, 
keeping  my  ears  open  in  case  he  might  follow  me,  but 
I  heard  nothing.  In  another  minute  I  arrived  at  No. 
19.  I  had  just  opened  the  outside  door,  when  I  was 
brought  to  a  standstill  by  the  sudden  beat  of  swiftly 
running  feet.  I  listened.  Some  rowdy  undergradu- 
ates' escapade,  was  my  first  thought,  but  I  instantly 
dismissed  it,  for  the  man  who  sprinted  at  such  a  rate 
in  a  blinding  fog  most  assuredly  had  something  to  run 
from.  On  the  spur  of  the  moment  I  left  the  key  in 
the  latch  and  went  down  to  the  foot  of  the  steps. 
The  fleeing  man  was  in  the  middle  of  the  street,  coming 
up  the  slope  towards  me.  He  must  either  have  been 
running  for  some  time  or  he  was  woefully  out  of  train- 
ing. He  was  gasping,  and  when  he  drew  near  me  he 
slowed  down  and  came  to  a  standstill,  trying  to  control 
his  breath  and,  I  thought,  listening  intently.  Presently 
he  moved  off  again,  walking  quickly  and  softly,  and  so 
far  as  I  could  judge,  still  in  the  middle  of  the  street. 
When  the  pad  of  his  footsteps  died  down  I  turned  to 
go  into  the  house,  and  at  that  instant  came  a  low 
whistle  and  once  more  the  sound  of  flying  fleet.  This 
time  they  came  from  the  opposite  direction,  as  if  the 
runner  had  turned  and  was  now  doubling  on  his  tracks. 
In  a  few  seconds  he  came  full  pelt  almost  past  me, 
swerved,  fell  heavily,  and  lay  very  still. 

I  hastened  to  the  roadway,  and  a  flash  of  my  elec- 
tric-torch made  it  plain  that  the  man  was  hurt.  I  put 
my  arms  under  his  shoulders  and  had  no  difficulty  in 
picking  up  and  carrying  his  light  weight.  The  key 
was  still  in  the  latch  and  in  a  trice  I  had  opened  the 


22  THE  SEARCHERS 

door  and  lifted  my  limp  burden  inside,  where  I  laid 
him  down  gently  on  the  stair.  The  gas-jet  was  burn- 
ing and  by  its  dim  light  I  made  out  a  pale  face  and 
some  straggling  wisps  of  sandy  hair.  To  reassure  him, 
I  put  a  hand  on  his  shoulder.  It  was  wet,  and  the 
torch  showed  me  that  his  sleeve  was  blood-stained. 
When  I  bent  over  him  he  opened  his  eyes  and  I  caught 
in  a  hoarse  whisper  the  words  "Have  they  got  it?" 
The  question  was  hardly  out  of  his  mouth  when  he 
swooned  again.  Just  then  I  felt  a  slight  current  of  cold 
air,  and  glanced  at  the  door.  It  was  being  very  cau- 
tiously opened,  inch  by  inch.  Still  bending  over  the 
man,  I  kept  a  wary  eye  on  the  door.  The  profile  of  a 
man's  face  appeared  and  a  dark  eye  peered  stealthily 
through  the  opening  about  a  couple  of  feet  from  the 
floor. 

I  sprang  erect.  Instantly  the  face  vanished,  but  I 
had  caught  sight  of  a  brass  ear-ring,  and  I  knew  that 
the  watcher  was  the  man  whom  I  had  stumbled  against 
at  the  railings  a  few  minutes  before.  Jumping  to  the 
door,  I  threw  it  wide  open.  The  fog  filled  the  door- 
way, and  realising  that  the  prowler  might  be  near  me, 
intent  on  some  devil's  work,  I  drew  back  swiftly  and 
slammed  the  door.  Its  clang  may  have  stirred  the 
clouded  wits  of  the  man  on  the  stair,  for  when  I 
reached  him  his  eyes  were  open  and  his  hands  raised 
in  a  feeble  attempt  to  ward  off  something. 

"Come  with  me.  You  are  safe,"  I  said,  as  I  took 
his  arm  and  helped  him  to  his  feet.  He  was  trembling, 
as  much,  I  believe,  from  sheer  terror  as  from  bodily 
weakness. 

He  stared  at  me  so  long  that  I  thought  he  had  only 
half  recovered  his  wits.  "Is — is  there — any  one  wi' 
ye?'"  he  at  last  asked. 

"Not  a  soul." 


CHAPTER  III 

THE  wounded  man  drew  a  deep  breath,  and,  my 
arm  in  his,  we  mounted  the  stairs  to  my  quarters. 
Having  bolted  the  door,  I  put  my  queer  guest  into 
one  of  the  arm-chairs  in  front  of  the  fire.  Then  I 
turned  up  the  light.  I  confess  to  having  felt  an  irra- 
tional sense  of  disappointment,  for  the  man  revealed 
was  commonplace,  with  nothing  to  suggest  midnight 
adventure :  a  man  of  medium  height,  slight  in  build,  his 
sandy  hair  and  thick,  untidy,  reddish  stubble  framing 
very  ordinary  features.  He  looked  a  city-bred  type; 
dozens  of  his  kind  could  be  met  in  a  quarter  of  an 
hour's  walk.  His  clothes  were  of  the  variety  known 
to  the  economical  and  the  impecunious  as  "reach-me- 
downs,"  clean  enough,  but  on  the  border-line  of  shab- 
biness.  He  was  sober,  but  a  little  dazed-looking. 

Clasping  and  unclasping  his  hands,  he  drew  another 
long  breath  as  he  looked  round  the  room.  I  noticed 
that  his  hands  were  delicate  and  well  shaped,  though 
his  nails  were  grimy.  He  was  still  looking  white  about 
the  gills,  so  I  mixed  him  a  strong  whisky-and-soda, 
which  he  swallowed  in  a  couple  of  gulps.  Then  he 
sat  back  in  his  chair,  a  patch  of  colour  stealing  into  his 
pale  cheeks.  He  touched  his  shoulder  gingerly,  and 
on  my  suggestion  pulled  off  his  jacket.  He  had  been 
stabbed  in  the  shoulder,  but  although  he  was  still  bleed- 
ing a  little,  the  wound  was  only  a  surface  one.  Sponge 
and  water  showed  me  that  it  was  not  serious.  To  give 
him  a  little  time  to  collect  his  wits  and  get  his  bearings, 

23 


24  THE  SEARCHERS 

I  filled  and  lit  my  pipe  leisurely.  Then  I  asked  him, 
"Well,  what  is  it  all  about,  my  friend?" 

"I — I  don't  know,  sir — at  least,  in  a  way  of  speakin', 
I  do " 

"Up  to  the  point  where  I  picked  you  up  and  car- 
ried you  off  the  street." 

"Aye !  I'm  a  bit  dizzy  yet  wi'  the  knock  I  got,  but 
I'll  begin  to  pick  up  the  ends  o'  the  business  in  a  minute 
or  two,  I  think." 

"Begin  at  the  beginning,"  I  said.  "I  call  myself  a 
lawyer.  Short  of  law-breaking,  I  shall  treat  what  you 
say  as  between  ourselves,  and  possibly  I  may  be  of  use 
to  you." 

"Well,  sir,  you've  dune  me  a  kindness,  but  there's 
no  very  much  to  tell,  and  what  there  is,  is  no  exac'ly  to 
my  credit;  but  ye  can  judge  for  yoursel'." 

He  was  a  shipping-clerk  employed  by  Neilsons  of 
Leith,  he  began,  in  a  high-pitched  common  voice.  His 
name  was  James  M'Nair  and  he  lived  in  bachelor  lodg- 
ings near  one  of  the  Bridges,  in  a  street  the  name  of 
which  I  forget.  He  had  been  working  late  in  the 
office  in  Leith,  till  about  nine  o'clock,  in  connection 
with  the  unloading  of  a  steamer  called  the  Prospero. 
Afterwards  he  had  gone  to  a  picture-house,  where  he 
met  the  second  mate  of  a  Baltic  tramp.  The  two  "for- 
gathered" and  he  took  the  mate  to  the  Prospero,  where 
the  steward  regaled  them  with  Danish  corn-brandy 
and  cigars.  When  he  left  the  ship  the  time  was  after 
eleven,  and  the  last  car  had  gone,  but  he  took  the 
opportunity  of  hiring  a  four-wheeler  which  had  arrived 
with  one  of  the  Prospero' s  engineers  from  Edinburgh. 
The  fog  thickened,  and  after  half-an-hour's  crawl  the 
cabman  refused  to  go  farther.  M'Nair  decided  to 
make  for  home  on  foot.  He  had  groped  his  way  up 
Leith  Walk  until,  he  thought,  he  must  have  been  close 


THE  SEARCHERS  25; 

to  the  junction  at  Picardy  Place.  There  he  almost 
ran  into  a  man,  who  passed  some  remark  about  the  fog 
and  asked  him  for  a  light.  M'Nair  took  out  his  match- 
box, struck  a  light,  and  in  its  momentary  glare  saw  the 
faces  of  two  men.  He  didn't  like  their  looks. 

"Thought  they  were  Dagoes.  At  any  rate,  they 
didna  look  like  Breetishers,"  he  said.  But  he  showed 
no  signs  of  alarm,  and,  with  a  remark  about  the  fog, 
went  on,  quickening  his  pace,  for  he  could  not  shake  off 
an  uneasy  feeling  that  he  was  being  followed.  Once 
he  stopped  dead  to  listen,  and  thought  that  he  heard 
footsteps  come  to  a  sudden  halt. 

"I  started  off  again,"  he  continued,  "but  my  nerves 
broke,  an'  I  began  to  trot — then  fairly  ran  for't  until 
I  was  clean  dune." 

"When  you  slowed  down  near  here." 

"Aye  1  Then  I  heard  a  whustle,  an'  a  man — like  as 
no,  yin  o'  the  men  I  met,  but  I  dinna  ken — closed  wi' 
me.  I  jumped  back,  but  he  was  quicker'n  me,  an' 
afore  ye  could  wink  he  had  knifed  me."  He  fingered 
his  shoulder  again.  "My  Goad!  I  was  lucky,  eh? 
I  was  mortal  feared,  but  the  sting  o't  roused  me,  an' 
I  let  drive  wi'  my  foot.  He  tripped  and  fell,  an'  off 
I  went  again  at  random  until  I  dropped." 

"Then  I  cut  in." 

"Aye;  an'  here  I  am,  sir,  thanks  to  you." 

"Why  didn't  you  shout  for  the  police?" 

"At  first,  when  I  started  to  run,  there  was  naethin' 
to  tell  the  polis.  I  was  ashamed  o'  my  fears,  an'  I 
just  ran  and  ran.  This  last  business  o'  the  knife  was 
so  sudden  that  it  knocked  me  silly-like.  What  beats 
me  is  to  put  a  name  to  the  business!  If  they  were 
thieves,  they  maun  have  been  gey  hard  up,  for  I'm  no 
exac'ly  like  a  Carnegie.  .  .  .  But  did  ye — did  ye  see 
anybody?" 


26  THE  SEARCHERS 

"The  face  of  a  man  watching  us.  He  looked  round 
the  street  door  after  I  carried  you  into  the  passage, 
and  vanished  when  I  went  to  the  door." 

Some  colour  had  been  coming  into  his  face,  but  at 
my  words  a  slow  pallor  crept  over  it.  The  man's 
nerves  were  in  rags. 

"Ye'll  no  turn  me  oot,  sir?"  he  said,  almost  abjectly. 

I  would  not  have  turned  a  dog  out  in  that  night,  let 
alone  a  terrified  weakling,  and  I  was  curious  to  hear 
more  of  his  story,  for  I  had  a  suspicion  that  he  was 
keeping  something  back  from  me. 

"You  are  safe  enough  if  you  can  make  shift  here  un- 
til daylight." 

At  my  words  a  vast  relief  showed  in  his  face.  "It's 
kindly  o'  ye,  sir,  to  a  stranger.  I'll  be  no  trouble  to 
ye." 

"But,  first  of  all,  I  want  to  know  what  you  meant 
by  saying,  when  you  were  coming  out  of  your  swoon, 
'Have  they  got  it?'  Who  are  -they'  and  what  is  'it'?" 

He  stared  at  me  for  a  little,  plainly  puzzled.  "Did 
I?"  said  he. 

Then  his  face  cleared.  "I  must  ha'  been  thinkin' 
that  a'  the  siller  I  had  in  the  worT  was  in  my  pocket. 
That  must  ha'  been  what  I  was  at.  I  can  think  o' 
naethin'  else.  Ye  maybe  never  kenned  what  it  is  to 
have  only  a  poun'  or  twa'  atween  you  and  'the 
beach.'  "  Little  he  knew ! 

He  plunged  a  hand  into  his  inside  pocket  and  with 
a  gulp  of  manifest  relief  drew  out  a  shabby  purse, 
which  he  opened.  "All  safe,"  he  said,  fingering  some 
one-pound  notes.  "No  that  there  are  mony  o'  them. 
I  was  mair  ta'en  up  wi'  thinkin'  o'  the  danger  o'  my 
life  than  my  siller.  I  never  was  in  sic'  a  deil's  busi- 
ness before."  I  was  watching  him  closely.  He  caught 
my  eye,  suddenly  rose  to  his  feet,  and  a  new  ring  came 


THE  SEARCHERS  27 

into  his  voice.  "Good  Lord,  sir!  Ye  surely — ye  dinna 
think  that  I  have  been  in  ony  mischief — or  that — 
that  I  have  onything  that — that — doesna  belong  to 
me." 

"I  have  not  said  so,"  I  replied,  not  unkindly,  for  he 
was  obviously  put  out  at  the  thought  of  being  sus- 
pected, and  his  next  words  did  him,  I  thought,  some 
credit. 

"No,  but Well,  it's  fair  and  due  to  you  to 

put  myself  right.  I'll  tell  ye  what  I'll  do.  I'll  leave 
everything  in  my  possession  wi'  ye,  in  case  o'  ony 
trouble  afterwards.  But  I've  nothing  o'  value  except 
twa'ree  poun'  notes.  Ye  can  hold  them  all  until  ye're 
satisfied  that  I'm  an  honest  man." 

"I  express  no  opinion.  But  your  offer  is  fair.  Sup- 
pose you  turn  out  your  pockets." 

"That  I  will,"  he  said  without  a  moment's  hesita- 
tion and  produced  the  purse.  It  contained  four  one- 
pound  notes  and  two  florins.  Next  came  an  evening 
paper,  a  small  ready-reckoner,  a  cheap  gun-metal 
watch,  a  pocket-book,  a  pipe,  a  tobacco-pouch  and  a 
match-box.  These  made  up  the  sum  of  his  possessions. 
He  smiled  whimsically  as  he  laid  them  on  my  table. 

"That's  the  lot,  except  the  claes  I  stand  in,"  quoth 
he.  "There's  just  one  thing  I'm  concerned  wi',  an' 
that  is  no  to  lose  my  job,"  he  continued  earnestly;  "an* 
I  tell  ye,  sir,  I  honestly  think,  somehow  'rither,  that 
thae  gentry  mistook  me  for  somebody  else.  I'm  no 
worth  knifin'.  But  if  ye  send  my  things  to  the  polis, 
they'll  come  speirin'  aboot  the  office,  an'  I'll  be  ill  put 
to  it  wi'  the  guv'nors.  It'll  no  be  very  pleasant." 

Sympathy  with  the  under  dog  compelled  me  to  ex- 
plain that,  while  keeping  a  judicial  mind  on  the  whole 
business,  I  did  not  intend  to  consult  the  police,  but  that, 
as  he  suggested,  I  would  retain  his  belongings  for  a 


28  THE  SEARCHERS 

day  or  two  in  case  of  developments.  The  fact  is  that 
I  was  now  rather  bored  with  the  whole  affair,  and  had 
come  to  the  conclusion  that  the  man  was  a  harmless 
nonentity,  out  too  late,  who  had  been  tackled  by  some 
night-hawks  not  above  such  mice. 

After  thanking  me  most  cordially,  M'Nair  confided 
that  he  had  a  friend  in  "the  polis"  whom  he  proposed 
to  consult  regarding  the  assault,  and  who  might  help 
him  without  unnecessary  publicity.  But  he  had  little 
hopes  of  the  ruffians  being  traced. 

It  was  now  after  one  o'clock  and  without  more  ado 
I  placed  the  articles  belonging  to  my  scared-looking 
guest  in  a  small  portable  cabinet,  locked  it,  and  took 
it  into  my  bedroom.  I  put  some  coals  on  the  fire  and 
gave  the  man  a  couple  of  rugs.  Then  I  told  him  to 
make  himself  as  comfortable  as  he  could  on  the  sofa 
until  morning,  and  lay  down  in  my  own  room  half- 
dressed,  to  turn  and  toss  until  half-past  five,  when  I 
gave  up  hope  of  sleep  and  rose. 

When  I  opened  my  bedroom  door,  M'Nair  was  sit- 
ting in  the  arm-chair.  I  turned  up  the  light  and  was 
struck  by  the  man's  white  and  drawn  face.  Plainly, 
the  poor  devil  had  not  closed  an  eye. 

"You  look  done  up,"  I  said.  "Lie  down  for  an 
hour  or  two.  There's  no  great  hurry." 

But  he  had  to  get  home  before  he  went  to  his  work, 
he  protested.  He  would  get  a  "brush  up"  and  some 
breakfast  at  his  lodgings.  I  had  been  very  good  to 
him,  he  said.  Did  I  think  there  might  be  any  danger 
from  "yon  fellies"  in  the  street? 

"Most  improbable  that  the  blackguards  would  be 
fools  enough  to  prowl  round  here  and  risk  being 
caught,  but  I'll  let  you  out  by  a  back  entrance  to  an- 
other street  and  I'll  go  part  of  the  way  with  you.  Your 
stuff  is  locked  up  in  the  cabinet  in  my  bedroom  and 


THE  SEARCHERS  29 

if  you  drop  me  a  post-card  to  this  address" — I  gave 
him  my  card — "I'll  be  here  to  hand  them  over.  I  shall 
be  interested  to  see  you  again,  and  to  hear  if  you  have 
anything  to  report." 

He  wrote  his  own  address  in  a  slovenly  hand  on 
a  slip  of  paper,  which  he  laid  on  the  chimneypiece. 


CHAPTER  IV 

ALL  was  quiet  when  we  descended  the  stairs  and 
slipped  out  by  the  back  door.  It  was  nearly  six  o'clock 
and  a  very  dark,  cheerless  morning,  but  the  fog  had 
lifted,  and  the  lamps  picked  out  the  lines  of  the  streets. 
I  piloted  my  guest  along  a  narrow  Mews  Lane  (which 
I  had  often  used  as  a  short-cut  eastward)  to  its  junc- 
tion with  a  thoroughfare  parallel  to  Jura  Street.  We 
saw  nobody,  and,  except  for  the  rumble  of  a  city  dust- 
cart going  its  round  in  the  distance,  not  a  sound  was 
to  be  heard. 

"I  ken  where  I  am  now,"  said  the  adventure-ridden 
clerk,  "an'  I'll  make  for  hame.  I  can  tell  ye  I'll  steer 
clear  o'  foggy  nights  an'  late  hours  after  this.  Just 
keep  my  bits  o'  things  as  long  as  ye  like,  sir;  but  I'll 
no  forget  your  kindness,  an'  I'll  come  back  wi'  any 
news  I  may  have." 

He  reiterated  his  thanks,  shook  hands  with  a  re- 
spectful heartiness,  and,  after  giving  a  look  up  and 
down  the  street,  set  off  at  a  smart  pace.  In  a  moment 
or  two  he  had  disappeared  in  the  half-light.  I  walked 
quickly  back  to  my  rooms,  yawning  my  head  off,  went 
to  bed  and  slept  for  a  couple  of  hours. 

With  my  after-breakfast  pipe  came  clarifying  re- 
flections. Had  I  helped  a  deserving  fellow-creature  or 
a  rascal?  His  story  was  coherent  and  given  without 
either  glibness  or  hesitation.  His  "douce"  Lowland 
accent,  his  clothes,  his  little  servile  mannerisms  seemed 
to  me  to  label  him  a  harmless  counting-house  subor- 
dinate who  had  probably  been  tracked  by  some  of  the 

30 


THE  SEARCHERS  31 

scum  of  the  port  for  the  sake  of  his  few  shillings. 

Yet  I  remembered  his  eager,  whispered  question, 
"Have  they  got  it?"  and  the  manifest  anxiety  in  his 
eyes  when  he  asked  it.  More  than  once  I  found  my- 
self, like  Paul  Demetrius  in  The  Red  Lamp,  murmur- 
ing "I  wonder!" 

I  had  given  only  a  cursory  look  at  the  man's  belong- 
ings, but  now  I  unlocked  my  cabinet,  took  out  the  odds 
and  ends  which  he  had  left  with  me  and  made  a 
thorough  examination  of  them.  With  the  exception 
of  the  purse  and  its  contents,  they  were  worthless 
trifles.  The  paper  was  an  Evening  Dispatch  of  the 
previous  day,  unmarked  in  any  way.  I  looked  in  the 
well-thumbed  ready-reckoner  for  its  owner's  name  but 
there  was  no  writing  of  any  kind  on  it  except  a  few 
pencilled  jottings  of  figures  on  the  title-page,  faint  and 
nearly  illegible. 

There  remained  the  pocket-book.  It  was  a  cheap 
article,  well  worn,  with  a  limp  elastic  band  round  it. 
It  had  a  couple  of  pockets  and  a  postage-stamp  case. 
In  the  pockets  I  found  two  cigarettes;  in  the  stamp 
case  there  was  nothing. 

I  was  turning  the  cigarettes  round  idly  to  find  out 
the  brand,  when  it  struck  me  that  one  of  them  was  un- 
usually well  packed  and  heavier  than  the  other.  On 
examining  the  ends  I  found  the  outer  casing  was  about 
the  thickness  of  a  paper  mouthpiece  such  as  one  sees 
attached  to  some  kinds  of  Russian  cigarettes.  Having 
stuck  a  pin  into  the  tobacco  at  one  end,  \  felt  its  point 
touch  something  hard.  The  same  thing  happened 
when  I  tried  the  other  end.  To  pick  out  the  layers  of 
tobacco  was  an  easy  matter  and  when  I  pushed  a  pen- 
holder gently  through  the  casing,  a  little  brown  cylin- 
der slipped  out  into  my  hand.  The  shadow  of  a  doubt 


32  THE  SEARCHERS 

arose  regarding  the  ingenuousness  of  my  new  acquaint- 
ance. 

The  cylinder  was  a  neat  little  roll,  not  much  thicker 
than  a  good-sized  quill.  It  was  tightly  packed  and 
when  unrolled  proved  to  be  in  two  parts — one  an 
outer  covering  of  rice-paper,  the  other  a  little  roll  of 
torn,  stained  paper,  the  right-hand  margin  and 
the  foot  of  it  straight,  the  left  side  zigzag.  It 
was  covered  with  writing,  so  small  that  I  had  to  use 
a  magnifying-glass  to  read  it.  Although  the  writing 
was  cramped,  it  had  been  set  down  with  scrupulous 
care  and  neatness.  But  it  was  unintelligible. 

There  were  about  a  dozen  lines  of  writing.  The 
letters  were  strung  together  without  being  divided  into 
words  and  there  was  no  sign  of  punctuation.  I  was 
able  to  pick  out  some  letters  which  appeared  to  form 
English  words,  but  most  of  the  writing  was  a  meaning- 
less jumble.  However,  I  traced,  among  others,  the 
words  "drove,"  "belief,"  and  "track";  and  the  last 
line  interested  me,  for  it  ran  thus:  "ossahumiliata  f." 
Plainly  this  was  meant  for  two  words,  "ossa  humili- 
ata."  The  use  of  Latin  and  the  little  Roman  cross 
struck  me  as  curious.  "Ossa  humiliata"  were  words 
which  I  had  read  or  heard  somewhere,  I  was  sure,  but 
I  could  not  remember  the  source.  It  was  now  about 
half-past  ten,  later  than  my  usual  hour  for  putting  in 
an  appearance  at  the  Parliament  House.  I  postponed 
a  further  examination  of  the  paper,  and  replaced  it  in 
its  hiding-place  in  the  bogus  cigarette,  which  I  carefully 
refilled  with  the  tobacco  and  put  back  in  the  pocket- 
book.  The  companion  cigarette  was  a  real  one,  con- 
taining nothing  but  cheap  tobacco.  This  I  put  beside 
its  sharn  brother,  and  having  locked  the  cabinet,  went 
out  to  find  that  the  fog  had  left  behind  it  a  chill  drizzle 
of  rain. 


THE  SEARCHERS  33 

The  Parliament  House  that  morning  was  as  dull 
and  depressing  as  the  sky  outside.  The  big  fire-places 
in  the  hall,  for  a  wonder,  claimed  nobody  except  two 
prize  bores,  and<after  an  arid  five  minutes  with  them, 
I  fled  to  the  reading-room  and  entrenched  myself  be- 
hind a  newspaper.  Almost  the  first  thing  that  caught 
my  eye  was  a  paragraph  headed,  "Tragedy  in  the 
City."  Boiled  down  from  its  journalese,  the  substance 
of  it  was  that  the  body  of  a  murdered  man,  supposed 
to  be  a  foreign  sailor,  had  been  found  early  in  the 
morning  in  an  "entry"  in  Durham  Place,  an  obscure 
alley  about  three-quarters  of  a  mile  from  Jura  Street. 
He  had  been  stabbed  to  the  heart,  and  when  the  body 
was  discovered,  had  probably  been  dead  for  two  or 
three  hours.  The  police  were  investigating  the  crime, 
and  the  account  ended  with  the  illuminating  flash  of 
inspiration  that  it  was  evident  the  murder  had  been 
committed  under  cover  of  the  dense  fog.  I  laid  down 
the  paper,  my  thoughts  back  to  the  events  of  the  pre- 
vious night.  Recalling  the  man's  flight,  his  wound, 
and  the  discovery  of  the  bogus  cigarette  and  its  con- 
tents, a  sudden  thought  struck  me.  I  went  to  the  tele- 
phone and  rang  up  Neilsons  of  Leith,  the  firm  with 
whom  the  man  M'Nair  had  said  he  was  employed.  I 
knew  one  of  the  partners  slightly.  He  was  in,  and 
answered  my  call. 

"Does  the  firm  employ  a  clerk  named  M'Nair?"  I 
asked. 

He  did  not  think  so,  but  he  would  find  out. 

Presently,  "No!"  came  the  answer. 

Had  there  been  a  steamer  of  theirs  called  the 
Prospero  discharging  last  night  at  Leith? 

No !  They  neither  owned  nor  had  chartered  a  ship 
of  that  name.  What  was  I  getting  at? 

I  answered  that  it  was  a  matter  of  little  consequence, 


34  THE  SEARCHERS 

purely  a  personal  affair,  and  after  exchanging  British 
growls  at  the  weather  with  him,  I  rang  off,  thoroughly 
and  painfully  conscious  that  I  had  been  playing  the 
Good  Samaritan  to  a  fluent  and  competent  fiar,  if  not 
something  a  thousand  degrees  worse! 

I  hurried  out  and  in  a  few  minutes  was  at  the 
police-office,  where  I  was  closeted  with  the  authorities, 
and  gave  them  a  full  statement  of  my  experiences  of 
the  previous  night. 

"We  should  like  to  have  a  look  at  the  man's  be- 
longings left  with  you,"  said  the  Chief,  "and  it  will 
save  time  if  an  inspector  goes  to  Jura  Street  with  you, 
and  brings  them  back  here." 

To  this  I,  of  course,  agreed,  and  a  taxi  soon  set  us 
down  in  Jura  Street.  I  brought  the  cabinet  out  of  my 
bedroom,  took  it  to  the  window  beside  which  the 
inspector  was  standing,  and  unlocked  it.  To  my  aston- 
ishment it  was  empty.  I  stared  blankly  at  him. 

"I  swear  that  I  put  the  things  into  the  cabinet  with 
my  own  hands,  and  locked  it,"  I  at  length  exclaimed. 


CHAPTER  V 

THE  inspector  took  the  cabinet  and  looked  inside 
it,  but  it  was  absolutely  empty.  I  was  beginning  to 
think  that  I  was  dreaming,  when  a  knock  sounded  on 
the  door  and  my  landlady  entered. 

"Were  there  any  calls  for  me,  Mrs.  Watson,  or  was 
there  anybody  in  this  room?" 

"Beg  pardon,  sir;  I  hope  I  did  no  harm,"  she  said, 
seeing  the  uneasiness  in  my  face,  "but  a  gentleman 
called  just  after  you  left  this  mornin'.  He  said  he 
had  an  appointment  to  meet  you  here  and  if  you  werena 
in  he  would  wait.  I  showed  him  in,  but  he  didna  bide 
five  minutes.  He  said  you  would  know  who  he  was, 
and  that  he  had  left  his  card.  He  had  no  time  to 
spare,  and  would  see  you  some  day  soon." 

"Some  day  soon!"  I  echoed  blankly.  "Some  day 
soon!" 

"I  hope  there's  naething  wrang,  sir,"  said  Mrs. 
Watson,  looking  at  my  puzzled  face. 

"N-no.  Nothing  of  any  consequence,"  I  answered 
mechanically.  "Was  he  a  man  with  reddish  hair  and 
a  stubby  chin?" 

"  'Deed  no !  He  was  as  clean  as  a  priest — a  ceevil- 
spoken,  weel-put-on  gentleman." 

"And  his  card?"  put  in  the  inspector. 

"I  looked  for  it  after  he  left,  but  couldna  find  it." 

"What  time  was  this?" 

"No  ten  minutes  after  you  went  out,  sir." 

With  a  doubt  in  my  heart,  I  went  to  the  chimney- 

35 


36  THE  SEARCHERS 

piece.  The  man  "M'Nair's"  address  in  his  own  writ- 
ing had  also  vanished. 

"Thank  you,  Mrs.  Watson,"  I  murmured  feebly. 
"Really,  it  doesn't  matter.  We  needn't  keep  you 
longer." 

When  the  door  hid  her  portly  presence,  I  turned 
a  crestfallen  face  to  the  inspector.  He  was  making 
notes. 

"More  than  one  on  the  job,  whatever  it  is,"  he  said 
grimly.  "Red-hair  has  a  useful  friend.  They  must 
have  wanted  the  pocket-book  badly.  I'll  wager  the 
second  man  watched  you  going  out  this  morning.  Well, 
well!  We  had  better  interview  the  landlady  again, 
and  try  to  get  a  better  description  of  this  morning's 
visitor." 

But  all  Mrs.  Watson  could  tell  us  about  the  caller 
was  that  he  was  neither  short  nor  tall;  that  he  was 
dark,  clean-shaven,  well  dressed  in  grayish  tweeds;  that 
he  wore  a  light  overcoat  and  a  bowler-hat,  and  car- 
ried an  umbrella  and  a  pair  of  gloves.  From  the  few 
words  that  passed  between  them,  he  appeared  to  her 
to  be  a  man  of  education  and  without  any  peculiarity  in 
his  speech,  manner,  or  features.  Her  impression  was 
altogether  vague,  almost  valueless  for  the  purposes  of 
identification. 

"There  are  a  couple  of  our  men  watching  the  house 
by  this  time,"  said  the  inspector  when  the  perturbed 
Mrs.  Watson  left  us  again,  "but  I  doubt  if  there  will 
be  any  more  mysterious  callers,  now  that  the  pocket- 
book  has  gone.  I  think  we'll  get  your  friend  of  last 
night,  though.  Perhaps  they  have  him  at  the  office  al- 
ready. Now,  we  must  make  a  search  of  the  rooms." 

Both  sitting-room  and  bedroom .  were  examined 
thoroughly,  but  not  a  trace  of  the  articles  which  I 
had  locked  up  in  the  cabinet  was  found. 


THE  SEARCHERS  37 

"Is  it  possible,"  said  the  inspector,  "that  your 
memory  has  played  you  a  trick?  You  may  have  taken 
them  out  of  the  cabinet  and  hidden  them  somewhere 
else." 

"No.  They  were  put  in  the  cabinet,  which  was  then 
locked  and  taken  to  my  bedroom  by  my  own  hands. 
They  have  been  removed  this  morning.  However,  I'll 
overhaul  my  evening  clothes  again." 

I  was  doing  this,  when  I  heard  a  sharp  "Hullo!" 
from  him.  I  looked  up.  He  was  holding  up  a  dress- 
shirt  to  the  light.  It  was  the  one  which  I  had  worn  at 
dinner  on  the  previous  night,  and  on  its  starched  front 
he  showed  me  a  red  smudge. 

"Looks  like  a  blood-stain,"  he  said. 

"I  believe  it  is.  The  man  clutched  me  when  I  lifted 
him." 

"If  it  is  a  finger-print  as  well  as  a  blood-stain,  we 
are  lucky.  I'll  take  it  with  me  and  have  it  examined." 

After  a  final  overhaul  of  the  room,  back  we  went 
to  headquarters. 

I  was  shown  the  dead  man  in  the  mortuary.  I  saw 
a  peaceful  young  face,  Southern  in  lines  and  colouring, 
olive  and  tanned,  with  a  short,  dark  beard  and  mous- 
tache. Seafaring  clothes  marked  the  man's  calling. 
A  few  shillings  were  found  in  his  pocket,  but  nothing 
to  help  identification.  The  police  thought  that,  in  all 
probability,  he  had  met  his  death  in  a  commonplace 
brawl.  One  Dago  less  in  some  fo'c'sle,  likely! 

But  I  wondered  if,  by  any  curious  chance,  the  run- 
ning feet  in  the  fog  had  any  bearing  on  the  man's 
death.  I  pictured  the  dead  sailor,  in  possession  of 
some  dark  knowledge,  being  lured  on  or  followed  in 
the  fog,  and  in  a  twinkling  struck  out  of  this  eager  and 
stirring  world. 

The  little  tragedy  filled  my  mind  and  depressed  me. 


38  THE  SEARCHERS 

When  I  went  out  to  the  street,  to  my  annoyance  (for 
I  prided  myself  on  my  nerves)  the  sudden  bang  of  the 
time-gun  on  the  Castle  made  me  jump  like  a  nervous 
old  lady.  A  decent  luncheon  would,  I  thought,  be  a 
welcome  change  from  my  thoughts,  and  I  quickened  my 
pace  to  keep  my  appointment  with  Keene-Leslie  at  the 
Caledonian. 


CHAPTER  VI 

AT  the  hotel  I  found  a  note  from  him,  telling  me 
that  he  might  be  a  few  minutes  late,  so  I  got  into 
a  comfortable  arm-chair  by  the  fire  in  the  lounge  and 
waited.  In  the  opposite  corner  a  man  was  seated, 
reading  a  newspaper.  The  thoughtful,  rather  melan- 
choly face,  the  dark,  glossy  hair,  brushed  back  and 
contrasting  sharply  with  the  pale  skin,  stirred  some 
memory.  When  he  looked  up  and  caught  my  eye,  I 
felt  that  I  ought  to  know  him.  The  same  thought 
must  have  occurred  to  him,  for,  after  a  glance  or  two 
at  me,  he  laid  down  his  newspaper  and  crossed  the 
hearth-rug. 

"You  are  Mr.  Neil  Forbes,  and  I  think  you  are  won- 
dering if  you  know  me.  Am  I  right?"  he  said  with 
a  friendly  smile.  "We  met  for  a  minute  at  The  Bield 
some  months  ago.  You  were  just  leaving  to  catch  a 
train.  I  am  your  uncle's  doctor.  Hall  is  my  name. 
I  took  over  old  Marshall's  practice  from  his  execu- 
tors." 

"Of  course!  Now  I  remember.  I  have  heard  my 
uncle  speak  gratefully  of  you,  Doctor  Hall,"  said  I  as 
we  shook  hands.  "How  is  he?" 

"I  should  like  to  give  you  good  news  of  him,  but  I'm 
afraid  I  cannot  say  that  he  is  quite  fit.  He  has  strange 
fits  of  depression.  And  I  am  doubtful  about  his  heart. 
I  don't  mean  to  say  that  his  condition  is  very  serious. 
A  sudden  strain,  you  understand,  must  be  avoided.  No 
more  days  on  the  hill  or  in  the  forest  for  him.  He 

39 


40  THE  SEARCHERS 

has  grassed  his  last  stag,  unless  he  chooses  to  take 
unnecessary  risks." 

The  doctor's  statement  came  as  a  complete  surprise. 
Although  the  colonel  had  not  been  quite  himself  of 
late,  I  had  put  this  down  to  his  increasing  years. 
There  had  been  nothing  in  his  letters  to  me  to  cause 
me  any  anxiety. 

"I  must  run  North  to  see  him  as  soon  as  I  can,"  I 
said.  "He  may  be  lonely  sometimes.  I  am  his  near- 
est relative.  May  I  ask  you  to  let  me  know,  from  time 
to  time,  how  he  is?" 

"With  pleasure."  He  hesitated  for  a  moment. 
"I  should  like  to  ask  you  a  question  which,  at  first, 
may  seem  to  you  to  be  a  little — shall  I  say? — inquisi- 
tive. But  my  profession  and  your  relationship  to  the 
colonel  must  be  my  apology." 

"If  I  can  be  of  any  help,  please  do  not  hesitate." 

He  stood  looking  into  the  fire  in  silence  for  a  mo- 
ment or  two,  as  if  debating  with  himself  the  form 
which  his  question  would  take.  Then  he  turned  a 
grave  face  to  me. 

"Do  you  know  if  your  uncle  has  any  private  worries 
or  anxieties?" 

The  question  disquieted  me.  My  impression  of  the 
colonel  was  that  of  a  man  exceptionally  free  from 
care,  and  of  singularly  cheerful  and  easy-going  tem- 
perament. Apart  from  the  stereotyped  grievances 
born  of  low  rents  and  high  rates,  I  could  not  have  re- 
called a  grumble  from  him.  My  uneasiness  must  have 
been  reflected  in  my  face,  for  the  doctor  hastened  to 
assure  me  that  there  was  no  reason  for  alarm. 

"Pray  do  not  misunderstand  me,"  he  said.  "I  may 
have  caused  you  needless  anxiety.  I  merely  asked  the 
question  in  case  that  the  same  thought  had  occurred 


THE  SEARCHERS  41 

to  you,  or  that  you  knew  of,  or  suspected  any  cause 
for  depression." 

"None  I"  I  replied  with  emphasis.  "Nor  have  I 
ever  found  the  slightest  trace  of  it  in  his  manner  or 
his  letters." 

"I  am  very  glad  to  hear  you  say  so.  But,  tell  me, 
is  it  possible  that  he  has  any  enemies?" 

"He  is  the  last  man  on  earth  to  make  an  enemy." 

"I  am  sure  that  you  will  bear  with  me,  Mr.  Forbes, 
if  my  questions  touch  on  any  private  matters.  I 
gathered  that  he  lived  abroad  in  his  earlier  days?" 

"Yes,  with  his  regiment  in  India  for  some  years, 
long  ago.  Since  his  return  he  has  lived  at  The  Bield 
a  happy  contented  routine;  fond  of  sport  and  outdoor 
life,  taking  his  share  of  public  duties;  a  man,  as  you 
know,  popular  and  respected,  with  hosts  of  friends. 
His  life  has  been  placid  and  uneventful.  Indeed,  I 
have  heard  him  congratulate  himself  on  its  freedom 
from  vicissitudes." 

"Yes.    All  this  tallies  with  what  I  have  heard." 

"But  about  this  depression,  doctor — have  you  any- 
thing definite  to  go  on?  I  mean,  something  more  than 
your  observations  as  a  medical  man." 

"Just  what  I  was  about  to  tell  you.  It  is  a  curious 
business.  I  hardly  know  what  to  think,  but  the  fact 
is  that  twice  or  thrice  he  has  told  me  that  a  black- 
bearded  man — a  stranger — has  been  seen  by  him  near 
The  Bield.  'Prowling'  was  the  word  he  used,  and  I 
came  to  the  conclusion,  not  so  much  from  his  words  as 
from  his  abstracted,  worried  air,  quite  unlike  his  nor- 
mal cheerfulness,  that  the  man's  appearance  had  been 
unwelcome  and  disquieting." 

"Strange!  He  is  not  the  man  to  knuckle  down  to 
nerves.  Is  it  possible  that  he  is  the  victim  of  a  delu- 
sion?" 


42  THE  SEARCHERS 

"Here  I  hesitate.  I  am  not  sure.  Men  of  his  age, 
of  course,  often  develop  curious  little  mental  flaws. 
The  word  'delusion'  ought  not  to  be  used  lightly;  and 
yet — and  yet — no  one  except  the  colonel — I  made  care- 
ful inquiries — has  ever  seen  this  mysterious  stranger." 

"He  has  no  doubt  about  having  seen  him?" 

"None.  He  is  unshakable  on  the  point;  but  I  must 
add  that  he  was  not  communicative,  and  I  did  not  care 
to  press  him.  All  I  know  is  that  at  least  twice,  if  not 
thrice,  he  has  complained  to  me  that  a  dark-bearded, 
'foreign-looking  fellow'  (those  were  his  words)  was 
seen  by  him  prowling  about  the  grounds.  I  believe 
that  you  may  get  more  information  from  him  than  I, 
and  if  you  can  make  a  point  of  seeing  him  soon,  per- 
haps between  us  we  may  arrive  at  the  cause  of  his 
moodiness." 

"I  meant  to  run  North  before  long,  and  I  shall  start 
a  day  or  two  earlier  than  I  intended.  The  colonel 
has  always  appeared  to  me  to  have  a  sane  and  well- 
balanced  mind.  I  shall  be  surprised  if  he  is  under  any 
delusion." 

"Pardon  my  pursuing  the  subject.  Blackmail  is  not 
unknown,  Mr.  Forbes." 

I  shook  my  head.  I  was  certain  that  the  chivalrous 
old  gentleman  had  no  dark  memories. 

"Impossible!  I  am  sure  that  he  has  nothing  to 
hide."  I  spoke  a  little  stiffly,  perhaps,  and  the  doctor 
was  prompt  to  notice  it. 

"Mr.  Forbes,  my  work  is  the  repairing  of  men's 
minds  and  bodies,  and  I  run  across  many  curious  and 
pitiful  cases  which  teach  me  that  the  'impossible'  and 
the  'improbable'  often  mock  one's  preconceptions." 

"Doubtless.  But  blackmail!  The  colonel  is  the 
soul  of  honour." 

"There  is  no  need  for  any  one  to  tell  me  that," 


THE  SEARCHERS  43 

said  the  doctor,  with  a  warm  ring  in  his  voice.  "I 
know  no  man  for  whom  I  have  a  greater  regard  and, 
if  I  may  say  so,  affection.  He  is  without  fear  and  with- 
out reproach.  But  I  cannot  shut  my  eyes  to  the  sad 
fact  that  the  lives  of  many  sensitive,  innocent  men  and 
women  have  been  wrecked  through  chantage" 

Again  I  shook  my  head.  "I  am  inclined  to  disre- 
gard both  the  blackmail  and  the  delusion  theories.  If 
my  uncle  says  that  he  has  seen  a  man  prowling  round 
the  house,  I  believe  him.  If  you  put  aside  blackmail, 
what  motive  could  any  one  have  for  coming  to  an 
out-of-the-way  corner  of  the  world  like  the  Glen?" 

"Robbery?     Is  it  possible?" 

"There  is  always  that  risk,  of  course.  The  world 
is  full  of  thieves.  But  unless  a  thief  happens  to  be 
a  simpleton,  he  doesn't  show  himself  beforehand,  tak- 
ing a  lively  interest  in  the  crib  he  proposes  to  crack." 

"Still,  it  is  possible.  Is  there  anything  of  great 
value — jewels,  curios,  or  the  like — which  might  at- 
tract a  thief  or  even  a  crazy  collector?  I  have  met  a 
collector  whose  hobby  for  intaglios  grew  from  an  ob- 
session to  a  mania,  and  who  carried  out,  single-handed, 
a  series  of  the  most  cunning  thefts  known  to  modern 
criminologists.  His  name  would  surprise  you." 

Beyond  some  not  very  valuable  pictures  and  the 
modest  family  plate,  I  knew  that  The  Bield  contained 
nothing  worth  the  attention  of  a  professional  cracks- 
man. The  pantry,  I  imagined,  would  be  the  most  at- 
tractive room  in  the  house  for  the  class  of  prowler 
found  in  a  remote  district  like  Glen  Ciuin,  and  I  said 
so. 

"Well,  well!"  replied  Dr.  Hall.  "Whatever  may 
be  the  cause,  I  hope  that  you  will  see  the  colonel  soon, 
and  sound  him  tactfully  on  the  subject.  There  may 
have  been  a  temporary  derangement,  a  mere  speck  of 


44  THE  SEARCHERS 

dust,  so  to  speak,  in  the  brain's  mechanism.  You  can 
count  on  my  letting  you  know  any  developments.  Now, 
I  must  be  off.  I  am  returning  to  the  North  by  the  aft- 
ernoon train,  and  I  have  a  good  deal  to  do  before  I 
start.  I  am  not  sorry  to  go,  for  I  confess  that  a  little 
of  the  town  goes  a  long  way  with  me.  A  city  practice 
would  soon  knock  me  up.  Indeed,  the  charm  of  the 
Cairngorms — I  am  a  lover  of  mountains — appeals  to 
me  even  in  this  wild  weather." 

"And  to  me,  doctor.  Perhaps  some  day  we  may 
climb  them  together." 

"Let  us  hope  so.  Truth  to  tell,  my  dislike  of  towns 
and  my  love  for  the  open  were  the  chief  causes  of  my 
settling  in  the  Glen.  I  get  my  share  of  sport.  I  have 
a  penchant  for  observation  of  wild  life  with  a  camera, 
and  I  hope  soon  to  publish  a  monograph  on  Alpine  lich- 
ens. I  am  often  out  on  the  mountains  alone,  and  know 
almost  every  corrie  of  them  by  heart.  Apart  from  my 
hobbies,  I  think  of  a  long  day  in  these  solitary  places 
as  a — how  shall  I  put  it? — a  'soul-bathe.' ' 

I  nodded.    "I  know  what  you  mean." 

"It  is  good  to  meet  one  who  understands.  Alt 
revoir,  then!  The  colonel  will  be  interested  to  hear 
of  our  chance  meeting." 

We  shook  hands  cordially,  and  he  left  with  me  the 
impression  (one  which  I  never  had  cause  to  correct) 
of  having  met  an  interesting  and  capable  man. 

Although  he  had  assured  me  that  there  was  no  cause 
for  alarm,  Dr.  Hall's  information  disturbed  me.  The 
colonel  was  my  dead  father's  brother,  and  the  most 
lovable  of  men.  The  thought  of  any  real  or  imagi- 
nary trouble  touching  him  weighed  upon  me.  I  made 
up  my  mind  to  go  North  in  the  spring  vacation,  and 
was  considering  uneasily  the  chill  question  of  ways 


THE  SEARCHERS  45 

and  means,  when  Keene-Leslie  arrived  and  bore  me  off 
to  the  dining-room. 

The  cloud  on  my  spirits  would  not  lift,  and  it  made 
me  the  dullest  of  guests.  I  intended  to  tell  Tony  my 
adventure  in  the  fog,  and  to  get  his  views  on  it  after 
luncheon;  but  it  is  a  bad  plan,  when  one's  mind  is 
charged  with  a  subject,  to  hold  it  in  reserve  during  a 
meal.  The  result  was  that  it  induced  in  me  a  species 
of  conversational  paralysis.  I  count  it  a  crime  to  spoil 
good  talk,  but  my  contribution  consisted  of  punctu- 
ating Tony's  remarks  with  futilities  such  as  "Just 
so"  and  "I  suppose  so."  My  thoughts  wandered.  I 
was  miserably  conscious  of  failure,  and  wholly  glad 
when  the  luncheon  came  to  an  end  and  we  went  back 
to  the  lounge. 

"You're  not  very  lively,  my  friend,"  said  Tony. 
"You  haven't  opened  your  mouth  for  the  last  half- 
hour  except  for  purposes  of  nourishment,  and  (con- 
trary to  your  custom)  you  kindly  allowed  me  to  de- 
liver a  monologue  on  passing  affairs  without  comment 
or  contradiction.  Further,  you  are  distrait,  and  you 
are  looking  a  bit  fagged.  What  is  it,  Neil?  I 
shouldn't  worry  too  much,  if  I  were  you,  over  your 
flutter  in  the  mining  market." 

"Truth  to  tell,  my  own  anxieties  have  been  pushed 
into  a  back  seat  since  I  left  you  last  night.  I  have  a 
story  which  may  interest  you,"  I  said;  and  I  gave  him 
my  adventure  in  the  fog  and  its  sequel.  He  listened  so 
intently  that  his  cigar  went  out. 

When  I  had  finished,  "A  red-haired  liar,  a  dead 
sailor,  and  a  rifled  cabinet!"  he  exclaimed.  "This 
sounds  promising.  Let  me  hear  it  again,  and  I'll  take 
some  notes." 

Once  more  I  went  through  the  story  carefully,  step 


46  THE  SEARCHERS 

by  step,  while  he  took  notes,  now  and  then  asking  a 
question. 

"It  seems  to  me  that  you  have  come  well  out  of  it 
with  nothing  more  than  a  smear  of  blood  on  your  shirt. 
That  pocket-book  was  wanted  badly.  Its  present  pos- 
sessor isn't  a  beginner.  The  use  of  the  words  "ossa 
humiliata"  followed  by  the  little  cross  at  the  end  of 
the  paper,  are  queer.  I  happen  to  remember  that  they 
occur  in  an  antiphon  in  the  Catholic  Office  of  the  Dead. 
The  complete  sentence  runs:  'Exultabunt  Domino  ossa 
humiliata'  ('The  humbled  bones  shall  rejoice  in  the 
Lord')." 

"What  do  you  make  of  it?" 

He  shook  his  head.  "Nothing  as  yet.  But  I  am 
most  interested.  Do  you  mind  taking  me  to  your 
rooms  and  letting  me  have  a  look  round?  We  have 
an  hour  and  a  half  before  my  train  starts." 

We  arrived  at  Jura  Street  in  a  few  minutes,  and 
there  I  showed  him  the  cabinet.  He  put  me  through 
my  story  again,  amplified  his  notes,  and  checked  them 
with  my  statement. 

"I  should  like  very  much  to  meet  the  ingenious  Mr. 
'M'Nair,'  "  said  he. 

"Have  you  any  theory?" 

"None  meanwhile,  except  that  I  agree  with  the 
fairly  obvious  conclusion  come  to  by  the  police,  that 
the  man  who  opened  your  cabinet  was  a  confederate 
of  'M'Nair.'  I'll  get  a  copy  of  the  finger-print  on  your 
shirt-front  from  the  police.  I  can  arrange  this  through 
Scotland  Yard — with  whose  chiefs,  as  you  may  guess, 
I  have  more  than  a  bowing  acquaintance — and  I'll 
pigeon-hole  the  copy  of  the  print  along  with  my  notes. 
But,  to  be  quite  frank,  unless  Mr.  'M'Nair'  is  laid  by 
the  heels,  I'm  not  going  to  refer  to  them  or  think  about 
the  business  unless,  of  course,  there  are  developments. 


THE  SEARCHERS  47 

Take  my  advice  and  do  the  same.  Don't  bother  about 
murders  that  don't  belong  to  you.  And  now  I  must 
bolt  for  my  train." 

I  saw  him  off  from  the  Waverley,  and  returned  to 
Jura  Street,  fully  resolved  to  follow  his  counsel  and 
trouble  myself  no  further  with  an  affair  which,  I 
thought,  was  no  concern  of  mine. 


CHAPTER  VII 

No  light  was  thrown  on  the  death  of  the  foreign 
sailor,  nor  was  he  identified.  I  paid  several  visits  to 
the  police,  and  found  that  no  one  had  taken  the 
trouble  to  look  at  the  body  of  the  murdered  man. 
In  two  or  three  days  the  newspapers  exploited  a  new 
sensation,  forgetting  the  Durham  Street  affair  as 
speedily  as,  in  turn,  they  forgot  its  successor.  Yet  a 
vague  uneasiness  which  had  its  root  in  something 
deeper  than  curiosity,  clung  to  me.  I  could  not  shake 
myself  free  from  the  shadow  of  the  night  of  the  fog. 
Hitherto,  I  had  scoffed  at  the  theory  that  most  men 
think  that  they  possess  the  makings  of  a  detective;  but 
my  vanity  had  been  touched  by  my  Jura  Street  visi- 
tor's deception  and  now  I  confess  that  I  caught  my- 
self scrutinising  every  red-haired  man  and  looking  out 
warily  for  the  next  one.  I  do  not  know  how  many 
innocent  citizens  I  must  have  scanned — some  hundreds, 
I  should  say — but  I  saw  nobody  remotely  resembling 
my  quarry,  until  one  day  a  man  with  a  short,  scrubby, 
reddish  beard  gave  me  as  he  passed,  a  significant  and 
furtive  glance.  Instantly  I  turned  and  followed  him. 
He  threw  a  swift  look  over  his  shoulder  and  went 
down  a  quiet  side-street,  but  so  far  from  quickening  his 
pace,  he  came  almost  to  a  standstill  at  a  shop  window. 
Obviously  he  was  in  no  hurry.  On  the  contrary,  he 
was  waiting  for  me  with  every  appearance  of  equanim- 
ity. Our  interview  lasted  for  about  ten  seconds,  for 
he  proved  to  be  a  fifth-rate  book-maker's  tout.  Leav- 

48 


THE  SEARCHERS  49 

ing  him  soldered  to  the  spot  by  my  language,  I  swore 
to  have  done  with  amateur  detective  work. 

There  was  enough  anxiety  over  my  own  affairs 
without  bothering,  as  Tony  put  it,  about  "murders 
that  didn't  belong  to  me."  The  wolf  was  getting 
nearer  the  door,  and  there  were  no  prospects  of  work 
coming  my  way.  But  I  trod  my  daily  beat  between 
my  rooms  and  the  Parliament  House,  keeping  a  stiff 
upper  lip,  and,  if  worried,  was  never  downcast,  al- 
though I  had  many  a  bad  quarter  of  an  hour  and  many 
bitter  moments  of  self-criticism.  Once  I  thought  of 
applying  for  a  vacant  legal  post  in  a  fever-haunted, 
God-forsaken  equatorial  swamp;  but  as  there  was  al- 
ways the  chance  that  I  might  get  it,  I  hesitated.  For 
once  indecision  belied  its  reputation  and  did  its  victim 
a  good  turn,  for  while  I  was  balancing  the  pros  and 
cons  I  received  a  telegram  which  put  consideration  of 
everything  except  the  immediate  present  into  the  back- 
ground. It  was  from  my  uncle,  and  ran:  "Come  at 
once,  if  possible.  Business  urgent."  I  sent  off  a  reply, 
and  took  the  first  train  North,  wondering  what  the 
urgency  was,  and  troubled  by  renewed  fears  regarding 
the  colonel's  health. 

After  Perth  I  got  a  carriage  to  myself  in  the  early 
morning  train,  and  had  a  sound  sleep,  waking  up  to 
the  greeting  of  a  fine  Highland  spring  day  as  the  train 
panted  up  the  Drumochter. 

Old  Angus  Macbain  was  waiting  at  the  station  with 
the  dog-cart.  He  had  been  in  my  uncle's  regiment,  and 
having  returned  to  his  native  glen  after  many  years' 
service,  was  whole-heartedly  devoted  to  his  master. 
Angus  was  "handy-man"  at  The  Bield,  and  no  one  ever 
earned  the  description  better.  He  could  tie  a  fly  with 
any  one  on  Spey.  He  had  been  a  fine  shot  and  stalker 
in  his  day;  and  now,  a  benevolent  despot,  he  looked 


50  THE  SEARCHERS 

after  the  lodge,  helped  in  the  stables,  and,  by  way  of 
recreation,  "took  an  interest"  in  the  garden  and  tended 
a  little  croft  of  his  own.  A  thirty  years'  war  with  a 
long  succession  of  maids  at  The  Bield  had  left  the  old 
Highlander  an  unvanquished  and  grizzled  bachelor. 

His  account  of  my  uncle  relieved  me.  "The  colonel 
iss  well,"  he  informed  me ;  "yess,  and  ferry  well.  In- 
deed, it  iss  a  long  time  since  I  wass  seeing  him  so  well. 
To  pe  sure,  he  will  not  pe  having  the  long  days  on  the 
hill  he  once  wass,  but  him  and  me  iss  no  so  young 
now." 

"Indeed,  it  is  a  long  time  since  you  taught  me  the 
Spey  cast,  Angus.  But  I  heard  that  my  uncle  had  not 
been  quite  well." 

"He  would  pe  keeping  that  to  himself,  then.  In- 
deed, I  have  seen  nothing  wrong  with  him.  If  he  hass 
no  peen  himself,  he  hass  not  troubled  other  folk  with 
it.  But  that  iss  the  kind  of  him !  You  will  be  telling 
me,  Mr.  Neil,  if  he  iss  no  well.  It  iss  thirty  years 
come  Martinmas  since  I  have  been  with  him,  and  there 
iss  no  man  like  him." 

"I  know  it,  Angus!  Be  sure  that  I  shall  tell  you; 
but,  from  what  you  say,  the  colonel  must  be  as  fit  as 
his  years  warrant." 

Much  relieved  by  this  account  of  my  uncle's  health, 
my  spirits  mounted  wonderfully.  Every  yard  of  the 
drive  was  a  delight.  The  morning  was  bright  and  se- 
rene to  the  zenith.  The  atmosphere,  tingling,  spark- 
ling with  the  tonic  quality  of  dry  champagne,  was  so 
clear  that  familiar  features  of  the  strath  stood  out 
clean-cut  and  strangely  near.  In  the  windless  air  the 
Cairngorms,  for  once,  were  clear  of  mist  to  the  high 
tops,  their  dark  fastnesses  and  ramparts  in  abrupt  con- 
trast to  the  steel-blue  canopy  of  the  sky.  I  could  pick 
out  the  bright  threads  of  the  hill-burns  that  are  for 


THE  SEARCHERS  51 

ever  running  down  their  silver  ladders,  the  green  spires 
of  well-remembered  woods,  and  many  a  spur  scaled  by 
me  when,  an  eager  youngster,  I  had  been  out  on  the 
range  in  all  weathers  from  Airgiod  Meall  to  Ord  Ban. 
Nearer  gleamed  my  native  river,  its  green  haughs 
speckled  with  crofts,  little  blue  stalks  of  peat-reek  ris- 
ing from  them  in  the  still  air;  above  them,  tier  upon 
tier,  their  immemorial  guardian  mountains,  awaken- 
ing in  me,  as  they  always  do,  a  strange  inward  incom- 
municable sense  of  wonder  and  solace.  The  beauty 
and  the  peace  of  it  all  was  like  a  cool  hand  laid  on  hot, 
tired  eyes.  "A  soul-bathe."  I  had  almost  forgotten 
Dr.  Hall's  phrase;  but  now  it  was  recalled  and  it  lin- 
gered with  me  until  we  turned  into  the  avenue  of  The 
Bield  and  I  was  greeting  its  owner. 

Old  Angus  was  right.  My  uncle  looked  Tn  his  or- 
dinary good  health.  He  was,  perhaps,  a  trifle  more 
bent,  and  showed  a  few  more  white  hairs,  but  his  eye 
was  undimmed  and  his  voice  had  the  same  kind  and 
mellow  ring  in  it  as  of  old.  Any  fears  I  had  vanished 
at  the  sight  of  him. 

"I'm  heartily  glad  you  are  able  to  be  here,  my 
boy,"  he  said,  running  a  scrutinising  blue  eye  over  me. 
"The  business  I  want  to  tell  you  about  will  keep  until 
you  have  sampled  Janet's  eggs  and  bacon;  -and  then, 
no  doubt,  you'll  want  to  have  a  stroll  round  the  old 
place  and  get  rid  of  some  of  the  town's  cobwebs.  Aft- 
erwards I'll  let  you  hear  a  yarn  and  ask  you  a  favour." 

"Command  me,  and  I  shall  do  anything  in  my 
power,"  I  said,  with  all  my  heart. 

"I  know  I  can  count  on  you,  Neil.  The  yarn  I'm  go- 
ing to  spin  is  a  curious  one.  Come  into  my  room  after 
you  have  had  a  look  round." 

Breakfast  over,  I  spent  a  pleasant  half-hour  going 
round  the  old  place  and  renewing  my  youth  in  the 


52  THE  SEARCHERS 

process.  I  interviewed  old  Janet,  most  faithful  of 
henchwomen  and  best  of  cooks.  I  called  at  the  ken- 
nels with  an  offering  of  bones  for  the  slobbering  and 
friendly  pointers,  walked  round  the  garden  and  the 
tree-fringed  lochan  near  the  house  where  I  had  caught 
my  first  trout,  heard  the  old  call  of  the  river,  and 
looked  down  the  valley  to  the  little  kirk's  steeple,  the 
cluster  of  village  roofs,  and  many  another  well-remem- 
bered ancient  landmark  of  boyhood  and  home. 

My  uncle  was  waiting  for  me  in  his  room  when 
I  came  back  to  the  house.  "The  Laird's  Room"  (as 
it  is  called)  demands  description.  It  plays  an  impor- 
tant part  in  this  chronicle. 

The  Bield's  original  ground  plan  had  been  a  long 
narrow  parallelogram,  its  entrance  facing  almost  due 
south.  About  thirty  years  ago  my  uncle  carried  out 
several  improvements,  the  most  important  being 
an  addition  of  a  couple  of  wings.  We  are  concerned 
with  the  eastern  wing  only.  In  its  south-eastern  cor- 
ner on  the  ground  floor,  is  the  drawing  room;  and 
running  along  the  wing,  in  succession  from  the 
drawing-room,  their  windows  facing  eastward,  are 
a  little-used  writing-room,  the  library,  and  at 
the  north-eastern  corner  "the  Laird's  Room."  Branch- 
ing off  to  the  left  at  the  end  of  the  corridor  is  a 
small  apartment  used  as  a  gunroom.  The  story 
above  consists  of  dressing  rooms  and  bedrooms,  my 
uncle's  bedroom  being  in  a  turret  room  immediately 
above  the  drawing-room.  The  wing  is  shaped  some- 
thing like  a  key,  the  south-east  corner  forming  the 
handle,  and  "the  Laird's  Room"  and  the  gunroom  the 
other  end  of  the  key. 

"The  Laird's  Room,"  lit  by  a  large  window  in  the 
centre  of  its  eastern  wall,  is  a  nondescript  apartment, 
a  mixture  of  lounge,  study,  and  smoking-room.  Its 


THE  SEARCHERS  53 

door  is  in  the  corner  of  an  L-shaped  corridor,  and  a 
few  yards  farther  along  the  corridor  is  the  gunroom 
door.  Deer  and  sea-otter  skins  cover  the  floor.  Half 
of  its  eastern  wall  is  lined  with  book-shelves,  and 
round  the  room  hang  two  or  three  portraits,  a  few 
good  sporting  prints,  and  some  grinning  heads,  tro- 
phies of  the  colonel's  younger  days. 

My  uncle,  unlike  most  soldiers,  was  never  a  stickler 
for  tidiness.  He  had  bachelor  ways  of  his  own,  and 
the  maids  had  orders  to  leave  his  belongings  where 
they  were,  whether  the  room  required  to  be  dusted  or 
not.  In  consequence,  one  found  books  on  the  floor, 
papers  littered  in  odd  corners,  and  a  chimney-piece 
laden  with  old  letters,  companionable-looking  cigar- 
boxes,  tobacco-jars,  salmon  and  trout  flies,  old  photo- 
graphs, and  odds  and  ends.  The  furniture,  too>,  was  a 
curious  jumble.  A  fine  old  bureau  was  flanked  by  pre- 
tentious chairs  of  Tottenham  Court  Road  descent — 
uneasy-looking  vulgarians.  A  Jacobean  arm-chair  be- 
side the  big  open  fireplace  had  as  vis-a-vis  a  veteran 
Crimean  sofa,  a  horror  in  horse-hair.  Exquisite  pieces 
of  old  china  were  jostled  by  cheap  and  impudent  imi- 
tations and  Japanese  trumperies,  hideous  enough  to  set 
one's  teeth  on  edge;  but  with  all 'their  haphazard  com- 
pany of  furniture  and  bric-a-brac,  my  uncle's  quarters 
were  the  acme  of  comfort  and  cheerfulness. 


CHAPTER  VIII 

WE  drew  our  chairs  closer  to  the  brisk  wood  fire, 
and  the  colonel  began  his  story. 

"You  have  heard  me  mention  your  uncle,  my 
younger  brother  Hugh,"  he  said.  "You  never  saw  him, 
of  course,  but  his  portrait  in  the  dining-room — painted 
when  he  was  a  youngster  in  the  kilt — is  his  handsome 
image.  The  sunny  smile  which  you  have  seen  in  it  got 
him  into  and  out  of  more  scrapes  before  he  was  five- 
and-twenty  than  come  to  most  men  all  their  lives. 
Hugh  was  rather  an  enigma.  None  of  our  lot,  I  am 
sorry  to  say,  has  been  overconscious  of  the  value  of 
money;  but  Hugh  had  a  perfect  genius  for  melting  it. 
What  became  of  it  no  one,  including  himself,  had  the 
faintest  idea.  He  was  of  the  type  people  loosely  call 
'generous  to  a  fault,'  which  often  spells  blind  want  of 
thought,  and  sometimes  a  great  deal  worse.  But 
Hugh  wasn't  vicious,  and  he  wasn't  lazy.  Every  one 
liked  him,  and  I  kept  him  from  the  end  of  his  tether 
as  long  as  I  could.  But  he  could  settle  to  nothing,  al- 
though he  was  bursting  with  vitality.  Restlessness  was 
in  his  blood,  and  one  fine  morning  in  '62  or  '63  I  saw 
him  off  from  Aberdeen  to  Australia  in  one  of  the  old 
clippers.  He  would  make  his  fortune,  he  told  me  as 
we  said  good-bye.  Poor  Hugh  I  I  have  never  seen 
him  since." 

"I  thought  he  died  long  ago,  sir!" 

"So  did  I.  He  wrote  one  or  two  letters,  but  I  lost 
touch  with  him.  Some  one  says  that  although  blood 
is  thicker  than  water,  it's  often  a  great  deal  nastier,  but 

54 


THE  SEARCHERS  55 

he  and  I  had  no  quarrel,  and  I  always  cherished  a 
vrarm  affection  for  him.  I  often  tried  to  trace  him,  but 
failed,  and  like  every  one  else,  I  had  given  him  up  as 
dead  long  ago.  But  what  do  you  think?  Yesterday 
morning  comes  this  letter  from  himi"  he  said,  as  he 
produced  it  from  his  pocket. 

"A  letter  from  Uncle  Hugh!" 

"His  letter,  beyond  doubt,  although  the  handwrit- 
ing is  weak  and  shaky.  But  I'm  afraid,  from  what  he 
says,  that  he  isn't  long  for  this  world.  I  will  read  it 
to  you,  Neil.  The  beginning  deals  with  sad  enough 
reflections,  and  is  for  my  own  eye.  I  need  not  read 
some  of  it." 

"I  understand,  Uncle." 

"After  these  first  few  sentences,  he  writes:  'If  I 
have  erred,  I  have  paid.  I  have  never  been  able  to 
"make  good"  (an  abominable  phrase  which  I  have 
picked  up  in  my  wanderings),  but  I  have  done  nothing 
that  I  need  be  ashamed  of.  I  have  neither  changed 
my  name  nor  brought  dishonour  on  it.  I  have  worked 
hard  enough,  but  I  missed  my  luck  once  or  twice.  If 
I  tired  and  turned  my  back  on  a  venture  my  successors 
invariably  scored.  Perhaps  I  hadn't  staying-power. 
Perhaps  I  am  "a  man  accurst."  I'm  not  sure.' 

"That's  Hugh  all  over,"  interpolated  the  colonel. 
"In  spite  of  his  intense  vitality,  he  never  was  'sure.' 
The  letter  goes  on:  'The  years  slipped  past,  and  as  I 
grew  older  the  love  of  wandering  and  change  and 
excitement  grew  stronger  in  me,  becoming  part  of  my 
blood,  necessary  as  air,  familiar  as  my  skin.  I  have 
had  a  few  kaleidoscopic  experiences.  I  have  feasted 
and  danced  at  Government  Houses,  and  I  have  herded 
with  all  sorts  and  conditions  of  men.  I  have  been  in 
nitrate;  in  diamond  rushes;  after  copra  in  the  Pacific; 
seal-poaching,  for  the  fun  of  it;  an  understrapper  in 


56  THE  SEARCHERS 

a  gambling-hell  on  the  Barbary  coast  (that  was  the 
limit)  !;  after  tin  in  West  Africa;  "on  the  beach" — 
literally  sleeping  on  it;  a  reporter  on  a  Nebraska  news- 
paper. These  are  a  few  of  my  ups  and  downs,  prin- 
cipally downs.  And  I  saw  you  once,  Ewan. 

"  'When  I  was  working  my  passage  in  a  "tramp" 
(heavens!  how  many  years  ago!),  she  called  for  coal 
at  Aden.  We  were  moored  in  the  inner  harbour,  and 
I  was  at  the  joyous  ask  of  trimming  the  bunkers,  naked 
to  the  waist  in  a  temperature  round  about  one  hundred 
and  forty  degrees.  A  troop-ship  had  just  cast  off  from 
her  moorings  near  us,  and  was  moving  off  to  the  Old 
Country,  when  I  came  up  for  a  breath  of  fresh  air. 
Just  then  the  band  of  the  trooper  crashed  into  "Auld 
Lang  Syne,"  and  at  the  same  moment  I  caught  sight 
of  you  waving  good-bye  to  some  people  on  shore  at 
the  Union  Club.  I  had  a  few  minutes  full  of  reflec- 
tions, to  say  the  least  of  it;  but,  except  on  that  occa- 
sion, I  have  neither  been  homesick  nor  unhappy.  A 
man  may  chloroform  his  nature,  but  he  can't  change 
it.  There  was  always  the  fight  for  life — the  glitter 
and  the  tonic  of  travel — and  when  roughing  it  one 
meets  more  live  men  in  a  month  than  in  years,  I  fancy, 
in  the  ordered  grooves  of  the  Old  Country. 

'Well,  well !  Now  I  am  within  sight  of  the  end 
of  it  all,  for  I  am  going  to  die  soon,  and  I  have  some- 
thing to  tell  you  before  I  am  past  writing.  It  concerns 
a  queer  incident  which  happened  here  lately.  "Here" 
is  a  little  cottage  in  a  sleepy  southern  Italian  village 
called  Ubriano,  and  thereby  hangs  a  tale. 

'  'In  West  Africa  I  struck  up  an  acquaintance  with 
an  old  Banffshire  man.  He  was  illiterate,  shrewd, 
and  suspicious;  but  he  had  a  soft  side  to  Scotland,  and 
he  took  to  me.  He  had  a  big  interest  in  a  tin-mine 
out  there,  and  gave  me  a  post  under  him.  I  slogged  at 


THE  SEARCHERS  57 

it  and  earned  a  decent  salary  and  although  the  place 
was  up  a  stinking  river,  and  the  last  word  in  climate 
and  loneliness,  I  stuck  to  my  guns  and  did  my  job 
for  over  two  years.  Then  it  did  for  me.  The  old  boy 
had  been  to  England  and  when  he  came  out  again, 
he  found  me  a  very  sick  man.  He  did  his  best  for 
me,  hurried  me  to  the  coast,  gave  me  a  year's  salary 
and  paid  my  passage  here  to  die  in  the  sun,  although 
he  was  kind  enough  to  put  it  that  I  was  getting  sick 
leave.  A  month  did  me  some  good  and  I  was  able 
to  crawl  about  a  little  in  the  open;  but  I'm  nearly  fin- 
ished now.  Well,  to  my  yarn ! 

'Twice  lately  I  have  had  a  visitor,  a  tall,  good- 
looking,  dark-bearded  man,  who  speaks  perfect  Eng- 
lish, but  has  a  distinctly  Southern  look.  I  should  say 
that  he  has  the  bearing  and  the  speech  of  a  gentle- 
man, although  I  thought  him  a  shade  too  polite.  I 
tolerated  him  at  our  first  meeting;  and  as  for  our 
second — well,  you  shall  hear.  His  card  proclaimed 
him  to  be  "Mr.  John  Wakeford,  The  Omnivagants' 
Club,  London."  He  was  an  Englishman,  he  said.  I 
doubt  it,  and  I  count  myself  a  decent  judge  of  nation- 
ality. On  his  first  call  he  was  profuse  in  his  apologies, 
but  he  had  heard  that  I  was  ill.  He  had  a  villa  near 
Ubriano,  and  wondered  if  he  could  show  me  any  atten- 
tion, as  he  feared  that  I  might  be  lonely.  His  voice 
rang  kind  and  honest,  and,  pleased  to  see  a  country- 
man, I  made  him  welcome.  He  spent  an  hour  with 
me.  He  was  pleasant  enough,  I  must  say,  although 
I  thought  him  a  trifle  inquisitive.  Now  and  then 
there  would  be  a  reference  to  England.  Forbes  was 
a  Scottish  name,  was  it  not?  And  so  on,  until  his  per- 
sistence, aided  by  my  inherent  aversion  from  discussing 
myself  or  my  career,  made  me  freeze.  Suddenly  I  felt 
that  he  was  watching  me,  and  keeping  something  back. 


58  THE  SEARCHERS 

The  feeling  was  based  on  nothing  that  I  can  explain, 
but  I  had  it.  However,  he  left  without  unburdening 
himself,  after  a  polite  request  that  he  might  call  again. 
I  assented,  though  without  warmth,  for  I  was  ill  and 
easily  exhausted.  Next  day  he  called  again  and  I  told 
him  civilly,  but  without  circumlocution,  that  I  was  un- 
able to  talk  much,  and  that  our  interview  must  be  a 
short  one.  He  looked  disconcerted  for  a  moment, 
but  recovered  himself.  His  next  words  surprised  me. 

"  *  "Mr.  Forbes,"  he  said,  "you  are  a  man  of  the 
world,  and  as  I  have  something  of  importance  to  say 
to  you,  I  do  not  propose  to  talk  round  it.  I  think 
that  you  appreciate  direct  speech." 

"  'I  told  him  that  I  entirely  agreed  with  him. 

"  '  "To  come  to  the  root  of  the  business,  I  know 
and  you  know  that  you  have  something  in  your  pos- 
session' which  may  be  of  great  value,  but  which  you 
cannot  turn  into  money  without  some  help." 

"'A  lunatic!'  This  was  my  first  thought;  but  he 
was  watching  me  steadily,  with  no  trace  of  mental 
derangement. 

"It  is  news  to  me,"  I  said,  "that  I  possess  any- 
thing of  value  except  my  life,  and  I  have  only  a  slight 
hold  of  that." 

'  'He  frowned  and  a  brusqueness  in  his  next  words 
irritated  me. 

"My  knowledge  is  accurate  and  you  know  that 
I  am  stating  a  fact,"  said  he. 

'  'I  felt  an  inclination  to  snub  him,  but  the  man's 
anxious  scrutiny  of  my  face  aroused  my  curiosity.  A 
consuming  earnestness  shone  from  his  dark  eyes.  I 
was  interested  in  spite  of  myself,  but  all  I  said  was 
that  I  wished  that  he  would  be  a  little  more  explicit. 

"My  telling  you  what  I  am,"  he  continued,  "may 
help  to  clear  the  atmosphere.  I  am  a  confidential  emis- 


THE  SEARCHERS  59 

sary.  At  present  I  cannot  name  my  principals,  but  I 
am  authorised  to  offer  you  handsome,  even  princely, 
terms.  Let  me  be  frank,  Mr.  Forbes,  and  give  me 
frankness  in  return." 

"  {  "Go  on,  Mr.  Wakeford.  I  promise  you  frank- 
ness." Madman  or  crank,  I  would  humour  him.  It 
would  probably  shorten  the  interview. 

"  '  "We  have  secret  information  that -you  have  cer- 
tain writings.  Your  presence  here" — he  paused  and 
repeated  the  words,  his  eyes  bent  on  mine — "your 
presence  here  is  known  to  my  principals.  The  docu- 
ment which  you  possess  is  incomplete,  and  useless  to 
you;  but  it  is  of  importance  to  those  for  whom  I  act." 

"  'I  told  him  I  had  not  the  remotest  idea  of  his 
meaning. 

"  '  "You  know  that  I  am  speaking  of  the  Leopard's 
Eye." 

"  'The  Leopard's  Eye !  The  man  obviously  was 
suffering  from  a  delusion,  but  I  merely  said  that  I  knew 
nothing  and  cared  less  about  the  eyes  of  leopards  or 
other  beasts  of  prey. 

"  '  "You  are  not  speaking  the  truth,"  he  replied 
coolly,  with  the  result  that  I  lost  my  temper,  and  or- 
dered him  to  leave  the  house  at  once,  unless  he  wished 
to  be  removed  by  the  police. 

"  '  "I  put  your  rudeness  and  quixotic  conduct  down 
to  your  illness,  Mr.  Forbes,"  he  said  as  he  rose  to  go. 
"Remember  there  is  a  fortune  hanging  on  your  deci- 
sion. Pray  think  calmly  over  what  I  suggest.  I  shall 
return  in  a  few  days.  You  require  money,  and  I  can, 
in  exchange  for  the  paper,  offer  you " 

"  'At  this  piece  of  insolence  I  fired  up  again;  and, 
after  a  pause,  he  evidently  concluded  that  it  would,  to 
put  it  mildly,  be  undiplomatic  to  press  me  further.  He 
bowed  himself  out  with  a  grave  ambassadorial  air,  but 


6o  THE  SEARCHERS 

I  didn't  like  the  look  in  his  eye  when  I  ordered  him  to 
"clear." 

"  'Now,  I  have  two  fixed  ideas  concerning  him — 
one  that  he  is  a  liar  as  to  who  he  is,  and  the  other 
is  that  he  is  telling  the  truth  about  the  existence  of  this 
document.  I  never  saw  a  man  who  looked  more  in 
earnest  than  this  Mr.  Wakeford,  as  he  calls  himself. 

"  'After  he  left  I  thought  a  good  deal  and  there 
gradually  dawned  on  me  a  recollection,  like  a  curious 
dream,  of  hearing  when  a  boy  a  family  tradition  about 
lost  jewels.  Am  I  dreaming?  In  all  likelihood  I  am, 
but  it  may  have  been  worth  my  while  writing  you. 
The  Leopard's  Eye  may  be  a  jewel;  but  the  whole 
thing,  I  confess,  seems  to  me  to  be  too  fantastic.  How- 
ever, I'll  rummage  through  my  papers  when  I  get  back 
my  strength. 

"  'Well,  I  have  given  you  my  story.  A  hundred  to 
one  there  is  nothing  in  it,  but  you  have  it  for  what  it 
is  worth. 

"  'And  now  I  am  very  tired.  This  is  a  good  place 
to  die  in — blue  skies,  and  blue  sea,  and  quiet — but  I 
would  give  much  for  a  glimpse  of  the  Glen  and  a  kent 
face  or  two  there — before  I  go.' 

"There  is  more,  Neil,"  said  the  colonel  sadly,  "but 
none  of  it  concerns  Hugh's  story  except  the  postscript, 
in  which  he  says  that  he  has  given  instructions  for  his 
papers  to  be  sent  to  me  in  the  event  of  his  death. 
And  now,  what  do  you  make  of  it?" 

"I  ought  to  go  to  him  at  once,  uncle,"  I  said  with: 
out  hesitation. 

"Just  what  I  intended  to  ask  you.  Papers  or  no 
papers,  mysterious  visitors  and  so  on  are  of  little  con- 
sequence, but  Hugh  is  ill,  alone,  and  among  strangers." 

"I  shall  start  this  afternoon." 


CHAPTER  IX 

"THE  sooner  you  start  the  better,"  said  the  colonel 
approvingly.  "But  I  have  more  to  tell  you.  Hugh's 
reference  to  a  hazy  memory  of  a  family  tradition 
kindled  a  train  of  thought  in  me;  for  the  strange  thing 
is  that  there  has  existed  a  tradition  in  our  line  concern- 
ing lost  or  stolen  jewels.  It  dates,  I  believe,  from  the 
sixteenth  century,  and  I  have  something  which  bears  on 
it.  It  is  in  a  little,  hidden  fireproof  safe  which  is  built 
into  the  wall  opposite,  behind  those  two  rows  of  imita- 
tion books.  I  don't  suppose  you  ever  knew  of  the 
safe's  existence.  See!" 

He  went  to  the  book-shelves,  touched  a  spring,  and 
the  dummy  books  fell  outwards,  disclosing  the  door 
of  a  little  safe.  Having  taken  a  bunch  of  keys  from 
his  pocket,  he  opened  the  safe-door  and  from  a  drawer 
inside  it  drew  out  a  long  envelope. 

"I  remember  my  father,  very  many  years  ago,  read- 
ing the  envelope's  contents.  They  made  no  impres- 
sion on  me  at  the  time,  possibly  because  he  told  me 
that  they  were  valueless  curiosities.  He  and  his  father 
before  him  knew  no  more  of  their  history  than  I  do 
— which  is  precious  little.  All  I  know  is  that  there  was 
a  tradition  in  the  family  that  a  reward  for  faithful 
services,  a  signal  favour  in  the  shape  of  jewels,  had 
been  sent  long  ago  by  one  of  the  Popes  to  the  then 
Forbes  of  Glenciuin,  and  that  the  jewels  never  reached 
him." 

He  drew  from  the  envelope  two  yellow  stained 
papers,  very  thin,  and  so  worn  at  the  edges  that  they 

61 


62  THE  SEARCHERS 

hardly  held  together.  The  first  one  was  legible  in 
parts,  and  its  nature  was  clear.  Some  of  the  quaint 
faded,  spidery  characters  of  a  by-gone  age  were  not 
readable,  but  it  was  plain  that  the  paper  was  an  inven- 
tory of  valuables.  It  ran  thus : 

Pax  Christi.  Given  at  Saint  Mark's  .  .  .  Ye  Fish- 
erman His  Ring  .  .  .  in  Ye  Fourthe  Yeare  .  .  .  faith- 
ful servants  .  .  .  Glenciuin  in  ye  Northe  .  .  .  ane 
Great  Matter  concerning  our  unhappie  Realme  of 
Scottland  .  .  .  Item  Siller  Galleon  .  .  .  Four  and 
Twentie  Great  Black  Pearles  at  ye  Bulwarkes  .  .  . 
Five  Golde  .  .  .  Crucifix  Carven  and  Sett  about  with 
diverse  Gemms  .  .  .  two  Cordes  .  .  .  jew  eld  Ro- 
sarie  to  his  Ladye  .  .  .  Lyon  of  Scottland  on  a  Shield 
;...  .  .  Crosses  of  Emirants  a  lesser  Brazen  Casquett 
and  ane  Great  Jewell  of  ye  farthest  Inde  a  Marvell  to 
See  It  and  None  Other  is  ye  Create  Leppard's  Eye. 

"The  Leopard's  Eye!"  I  exclaimed.  "The  man 
Wakeford  used  the  same  words.  The  old  story  of  the 
jewels  must  be  true!" 

"There  is  certainly  something  more  than  a  strange 
coincidence  here." 

"Does  the  other  paper  help  us?" 

"I'm  afraid  not.  It  looks  about  as  promising  as  a 
dried  cabbage-leaf.  But  my  eyes  are  old.  Take  this 
magnifying-glass  and  see  if  you  can  make  anything 
of  it." 

He  opened  the  other  paper  and  laid  it  on  the  table. 
I  took  the  glass  and  bent  over  it,  greatly  excited,  but 
I  was  disappointed.  The  paper  was  covered  with 
damp  stains.  A  few  very  faint  characters  showed 
here  and  there,  but  for  any  practical  purpose  it  might 
as  well  have  been  a  blank  sheet. 


THE  SEARCHERS  63 

"Well?"  asked  the  colonel,  after  I  had  scrutinised  it. 

"The  years  have  done  for  it,  sir.  Only  the  ghosts 
of  a  few  of  the  original  characters  remain.  No  one 
will  be  able  to  make  out  a  single  word  of  it,  I  fear. 
What  a  misfortune!" 

I  was  giving  it  a  farewell  look  under  the  glass, 
when  a  word  at  the  foot  of  the  paper  caught  my  eye. 
I  gazed  so  long  that  the  colonel  was  moved  to  suggest 
that  my  sight  was  no  better  than  his  own. 

"One  moment,  uncle.  I  don't  know  what  to  think. 
This  is  remarkable." 

I  stared  at  the  paper.  My  thoughts  went  back  to 
the  night  of  the  fog  in  Edinburgh,  for  the  words  I  read 
were  "Exultabunt  Domino,"  and  in  front  of  the  first 
word  was  a  little  Roman  cross.  They  were  in  tiny, 
cramped,  faded  characters,  but  there  was  no  doubt 
about  them. 

"What's  the  matter,  my  lad?"  asked  my  uncle. 
"Your  eyes  are  jumping  out  of  your  head !" 

I  told  him  the  whole  story  of  the  affair  in  the  fog, 
the  red-haired  man,  the  pocket-book  left  in  my  rooms, 
the  slip  of  paper  in  the  imitation  cigarette,  and  the 
murder  of  the  foreign  sailor. 

"The  unfortunate  thing  is  that  I  did  not  copy  the 
paper,"  I  said  ruefully.  "It  was  not  intelligible.  I 
could  make  out  one  or  two  English  words,  but  I  was 
struck  by  two  Latin  words  at  the  foot.  These  were 
'ossa  humiliata.'  I  remember  them  distinctly.  There 
is  a  link  between  that  paper  and  this  one.  The  words 
in  the  two  papers  run  thus :  'Exultabunt  Domino  ossa 
humiliata,'  which  sentence  occurs  in  the  Catholic  Office 
of  the  Dead." 

The  colonel  had  risen  and  was  pacing  the  room,  his 
face  very  grave. 

"That  in  itself  does  not  get  us  very  far,"  I  went 


64  THE  SEARCHERS 

on;  "but  what  impresses  me  is  that  the  left  side  of  the 
paper  taken  from  my  cabinet  was  ragged  and  uneven. 
Now,  the  right  side  of  this  paper  is  also  ragged,  and 
it  may  well  be  that  the  one  in  your  possession  and  the 
one  stolen  from  me  in  Edinburgh  fit  into  each  other  to 
form  an  intelligible  document.  If  this  be  so,  the  men 
who  have  the  other  paper  in  their  possession  are 
searching  for  the  one  which  will  fit  it,  and  give  them 
a  key  to  something." 

"A  key!" 

"Yes;  a  key  to  a  hiding-place,  perhaps." 

"Hugh  may  have  some  papers  throwing  light  on  all 
this.  But  I  wish" — and  there  was  an  unusually  sombre 
note  in  his  voice — "I  wish  that  I  had  never  heard  a 
single  word  about  the  business.  I  hope  there  is  no 
danger  in  your  going  to  Italy.  Don't  forget  that  the 
contents  of  the  Edinburgh  pocket-book  were  of  such 
importance  that  it  was  whisked  away  next  morning  as 
soon  as  you  turned  your  back.  Now,  this  paper  which 
has  lain  peacefully  for  years  is  resurrected.  I  have 
half  a  mind  to  throw  it  into  the  fire." 

He  ceased  his  slow  pace  up  and  down  the  room,  and 
stood  looking  down  into  the  fire  with  a  troubled  frown. 

"Neil,  I  have  something  else  to  tell  you,"  said  he. 
"I  may  be  an  old  fool — at  my  age  one  sometimes  has 
queer  fancies — but  when  I  read  Hugh's  letter  about 
the  dark  visitor  and  his  errand,  I  confess  it  gave  me 
something  to  think  about.  My  boy,  I  believe  I  am  be- 
ing spied  upon.  I  swear  to  you  that  three  times  lately 
a  stranger  has  been  seen  by  me  prowling  near  the 
house." 

Instantly  I  recalled  Dr.  Hall's  conversation  with  me 
in  the  Caledonian  Hotel.  Intensely  interested,  I 
begged  my  uncle  to  tell  me  the  full  story;  and  I  now 
give  his  statement  as  accurately  as  I  can  remember  it. 


CHAPTER  X 

THE  colonel  had  been  out  after  woodcock  on  an 
afternoon  about  the  beginning  of  February  and  on  com- 
ing home  at  dusk  went  into  the  gunroom  and  through 
the  window  which  looks  out  to  the  north — that  is  to 
the  back  of  the  house — saw  a  stranger.  He  paid  little 
attention  to  him,  thinking  that  he  was  some  one  from 
the  village  and  the  man  went  away  towards  the  offices 
behind  the  western  wing. 

Two  or  three  days  afterwards  the  colonel  was  walk- 
ing, about  noon,  through  the  spruce-belts  on  the  slopes 
behind  the  house.  He  had  come  to  the  wood's  edge, 
when  he  saw  the  same  man  about  a  hundred  and  fifty 
yards  away,  moving  leisurely  along  the  highroad.  He 
then  left  the  belt  and  entered  The  Bield  by  a  back 
entrance  and  from  behind  a  curtain  of  an  upstairs 
window  took  a  look  at  the  stranger  through  his  field 
glass.  It  revealed  a  bearded,  stooping  figure  of  me- 
dium height,  with  a  suggestion  of  age  or  tiredness  in 
its  gait.  The  stranger's  clothes  were  well-worn,  if  not 
actually  shabby,  and  although  the  day  was  one  of  biting 
cold,  he  wore  no  overcoat.  His  face  was  very  dark, 
with  a  suggestion  of  pallor  in  it,  and  while  he  was 
too  far  off  for  my  uncle  to  get  a  distinct  portrait  of 
him,  his  impression  was  that  he  was  olive-skinned, 
dark-bearded,  and  (as  the  colonel  put  it)  "Jewish- 
looking." 

His  movements  riveted  my  uncle's  attention.  After 
passing  the  house,  the  man  turned  and  stood  watching 
it  for  some  minutes  from  under  the  trees  which  border 

65 


66  THE  SEARCHERS 

the  road,  every  now  and  then  looking  round  him.  A 
passer-by  would  have  put  him  down  as  some  one  with 
the  time  and  the  inclination  to  idle  in  the  enjoyment 
of  fresh  air  and  a  country  road.  But  the  glasses 
showed  my  uncle  that  the  man's  glance  around  him  was 
cautious,  and  often  repeated.  He  was  watching  the 
house  intently  and  keeping  a  wary  eye  about  him. 
Presently  he  got  well  under  cover  of  the  trees,  and  all 
that  the  colonel  could  then  make  out  was  the  brim  of 
his  slouch  hat.  There  he  remained  quietly  watching, 
and  my  uncle,  having  made  up  his  mind  to  have  a  look 
at  him  at  close  quarters,  came  downstairs  and  walked 
quickly  along  the  avenue.  To  his  astonishment,  al- 
though he  went  past  the  spot  where  the  stranger  had 
been  standing,  there  was  nobody  to  be  seen.  But  there 
were  distinct  footprints  of  large,  broad,  hobnailed 
boots,  the  right  one  showing  in  the  centre  of  the  sole 
the  clear  imprint  of  a  triangular  patch. 

These  incidents  did  not  at  the  time  impress  them- 
selves on  the  colonel,  but  they  were  brought  sharply 
home  to  him  two  nights  afterwards.  He  had  retired 
to  his  bedroom  about  twelve  o'clock.  The  night  was 
quiet  and  windless,  the  moon  drifting  clear  of  a  few 
clouds.  He  had  not  lit  his  candle,  and  was  standing 
looking  through  the  window  at  the  beauty  of  the  night, 
when  he  thought  he  saw  a  movement  near  the  edge 
of  the  wood.  Instantly  he  slipped  back  behind  the  cur- 
tain. In  a  minute  or  two  a  man  came  cautiously  for- 
ward, gliding  noiselessly  from  behind  one  tree  to  an- 
other until  he  reached  the  edge  of  the  wood,  where 
he  stood  motionless  in  the  shadow.  On  the  alert,  the 
colonel  at  once  came  downstairs  on  tiptoe  to  the 
"Laird's  Room."  There  he  crept  quickly  and  quietly 
to  the  window,  and  peered  cautiously  below  the  blind. 
The  man  was  standing  not  three  yards  from  him,  but 


THE  SEARCHERS  67 

the  strip  of  window  below  the  blind  was  too  narrow 
to  let  his  face  be  seen.  For  a  few  seconds  the  prowler 
stood  still.  Then  he  came  closer  to  the  window.  The 
colonel  could  hear  a  faint  sound,  and  caught  a  glimpse, 
he  thought,  of  one  of  the  man's  hands  near  the  window- 
sill.  The  blind  was  one  of  the  patent  "fly-up"  sort. 
The  colonel  suddenly  jerked  the  cord,  and  instantly  the 
blind  flew  up  and  the  two  men  faced  each  other.  The 
midnight  visitor  was  the  same  man  whom  my  uncle 
had  twice  seen  prowling  near  the  house  ! 

"I  must  admit,"  said  the  colonel,  "that  the  fellow 
behaved  with  extraordinary  coolness,  not  to  say  in- 
solence. He  put  something  in  his  pocket,  pulled  his 
hat  over  his  eyes  and  doubled  back  to  the  edge  of  the 
wood.  There — can  you  believe  it? — he  raised  his  hat 
in  a  farewell  salute — a  polite  enough  gesture,  if  a  little 
florid.  Then  he  turned  and  vanished  among  the  trees. 
I  roused  the  house  and  went  to  the  lodge  for  Angus 
and  the  two  of  us,  with  a  gun  in  case  of  accidents,  went 
all  round  the  place.  But  we  heard  and  saw  nothing. 
Next  morning  we  examined  the  path  outside  my  room 
window,  and  there  we  found  footprints  identical  with 
those  I  saw  under  the  tree  by  the  roadside.  But  that 
was  not  all.  On  the  woodwork  of  the  window  were 
scrawled  in  chalk  the  words,  'I  FRUGATORI.'  I 
think  they  are  Italian,  and  mean  'The  Searchers'  or 
'The  Seekers,'  or  something  like  that.  Unfortunately 
the  rain  next  morning  washed  them  out." 

"Extraordinary!"  said  I.  "Surely  a  man  such  as  you 
describe  would  have  been  noticed  and  easily  traced  in 
a  quiet  neighbourhood  like  this." 

"So  one  would  imagine;  and  as  a  matter  of  fact, 
two  or  three  people  think  that  they  saw  a  stranger, 
though  not  in  the  evening.  But  they  cannot  swear  to 


68  THE  SEARCHERS 

his  appearance,  and  from  the  moment  he  gave  me  his 
adieu  there  has  been  no  trace  of  him." 

"Did  you  tell  the  police?" 

"I  did;  but,  of  course,  I  could  make  no  charge.  The 
Chief-Constable  telephoned  a  description  to  all  the 
police-stations,  and  sent  a  plain-clothes  man  to  the 
district.  All  the  likely  trains  were  watched,  but  to 
no  purpose.  However,  as  nothing  had  happened,  the 
incidents  did  not  disquiet  me.  I  had  almost  dismissed 
the  whole  thing  from  my  mind  when  Hugh's  story  ar- 
rived; and  now  you  come  with  yours." 

"I  feel  certain  that  the  two  are  connected,"  I  said. 
"Uncle  Hugh  may  be  too  ill  to  look  through  his  papers. 
They  may  be  stolen  from  him.  I'll  telegraph  at  once 
and  lose  no  time  in  starting  for  Italy." 

"I  wish  I  could  go  with  you-,  Neil;  but  I  don't  feel 
quite  equal  to  the  journey.  If  you  can  bring  Hugh  to 
this  country  alive,  do  so.  But  you  may  be  too  late." 

We  discussed  the  affair  until  the  luncheon-hour,  when 
Dr.  Hall  joined  us.  Afterwards  I  went  down  the  ave- 
nue with  the  doctor,  who  was,  I  think,  a  little  anxious 
about  his  patient. 

"How  do  you  think  the  colonel  is  looking?"  he  asked 
me.  "Your  visit  has  brightened  him  a  good  deal.  I'm 
glad  to  say  that,  since  I  saw  you  in  Edinburgh,  he  has 
not  once  referred  to  his  mysterious  visitor." 

"I  think  he  is  looking  remarkably  well,"  I  said. 
"But  he  told  me  about  the  dark-bearded  man,  and  I 
believe  that  he  is  under  no  delusion.  I  am  convinced 
that  there  has  been  and  probably  is  some  one  watching 
the  house." 

"Well,  I  can't  fathom  it.  The  colonel  is  certain 
that  he  has  seen  this  person,  and  although  he  can  de- 
scribe him,  nobody  else  seems  to  have  seen  any  one 
remotely  resembling  him  in  the  district.  In  a  quiet 


THE  SEARCHERS  69 

place  like  the  Glen  such  a  thing  is  almost  incredible." 

"But  the  footprints." 

"They  prove  nothing,  except  that  somebody  had 
been  there  recently.  But  whose  footprints?" 

"The  prints  left  by  the  man  the  second  time  my 
uncle  saw  him  are  identical  with  those  found  after 
his  third  visit — big  broad  soles  with  a  distinct  trian- 
gular patch  on  the  right  one." 

The  doctor  thought  for  a  little.  "It  is  a  pity  that 
there  have  been  no  exact  and  methodical  investiga- 
tions. The  path  behind  the  house  was  not  examined 
until  the  next  morning.  Were  there  casts  taken  of  the 
footprints?" 

"No.  There  was  no  great  cause  for  uneasiness,  and 
it  was  not  thought  worth  while." 

"A  pity!  Footprints  so  distinctive  ought  to  be 
traceable.  It's  a  queer  story.  So  far  as  I  can  see  into 
the  business,  the  only  other  solution  is  that  ghosts  still 
walk." 

"Ghosts  don't  write  on  walls." 

"They  are  credited  with  performing  more  astound- 
ing feats — walking  through  doors,  for  instance.  But 
I  don't  follow  you.  I  never  heard  of  any  writing." 

"Why,  the  last  time  the  watcher  was  here  the  col- 
onel surprised  him  in  the  very  act  of  writing  something 
on  the  woodwork  of  the  window-sill." 

"Come,  this  is  something  definite.  We  may  make 
something  of  it.  I  withdraw  the  ghost  theory,"  he 
said  with  a  smile.  "I  have  not  seen  the  colonel  for 
some  days,  and  have  heard  nothing  of  this.  What  sort 
of  writing  is  it?" 

"The  words  were  /  Frugatori,  which,  the  colonel 
thinks,  is  Italian  for  'The  Searchers,'  or  something  of 
that  nature.  They  were  scrawled  in  chalk  on  the  win- 


,7o  THE  SEARCHERS 

dow-sill,  but  a  shower  of  rain  an  hour  or  two  after- 
wards obliterated  them." 

"I  have  heard,  of  course,  of  Italian  secret  societies, 
but  I  always  understood  that  their  aims  were  political. 
My  acquaintance  with  them  is  limited  to  their  lurid 
adventures  in  railway  novels — long-haired  Anarchists, 
throne-destroyers,  ruffians  with  bombs  in  their  pockets, 
and  all  that  sort  of  thing.  The  idea  of  their  being  in 
this  out-of-the-world  place  is  preposterous.  The  man 
is  probably  crazy.  What  on  earth  can  they  be  hunt- 
ing for?" 

I  hesitated.  The  doctor  must  have  noticed  this,  for 
he  said  at  once,  "Pray  acquit  me  of  any  desire  to  pry 
into  family  affairs.  But  it  is  possible  that  I  may  be 
of  some  use  to  you.  Criminology  has  long  been  a 
hobby  of  mine,  and  I  have  a  great  regard  for  the  col- 
onel. You  may  count  on  my  services,  such  as  they  are. 
Besides,  I  shall  be  on  the  spot,  and  you  probably  cannot 
remain  indefinitely." 

"We  are  very  greatly  indebted  to  you,  doctor.  The 
colonel  has  already  told  me  of  your  kindness  and  at- 
tention to  him.  In  confidence,  there  is  a  queer  family 
story  dating  from  many  years  ago.  I  can't  tell  you 
more.  Indeed,  I  ought  not  to  have  said  so  much  with- 
out the  colonel's  permission.  But  I  see  no  reason  why 
he  should  not  tell  you  himself.  Of  course,  he  does  not 
wish  the  matter  to  reach  the  public." 

"Naturally.  It  would  probably  be  garbled  beyond 
recognition;  and,  in  any  event,  publicity  would  serve 
no  purpose.  I  shall  respect  your  confidence."  He  stood 
for  a  minute  or  two  smoking  in  silence.  Then,  "By 
George !"  he  exclaimed,  with  sudden  animation.  "Now 
that  I  remember,  twice  I  have  seen  an  Italian  here — 
at  least,  to  me  he  was  unmistakably  Italian  in  type. 
The  first  time  I  saw  him  was  on  the  road  three  or  four 


THE  SEARCHERS  71 

miles  west.  He  was  carrying  a  melodeon.  The  second 
time  was  in  front  of  my  house  some  days  ago,  when 
he  was  playing  his  misnamed  instrument.  He  looked 
down  on  his  luck,  and  I  gave  him  a  copper  or  two.  I 
haven't  seen  him  since." 

"How  long  ago  is  it  since  you  saw  him  last?" 

"About  a  fortnight,  but  I  cannot  say  exactly.  There 
are  dozens  of  tramp  'musicians'  on  the  road,  and  if  it 
is  a  disguise,  it  is  simple  and  ingenious.  He  was  an 
elderly  man,  tanned  by  exposure,  woefully  out-at-el- 
bows,  with  shaggy  dark  hair  and  beard.  I  wish  I  had 
thought  of  this  'musician'  sooner.  I  could  have  sent  a 
message  to  the  police  to  watch  him.  I  think  I  shall 
telephone  to  the  Chief-Constable's  office  from  my  house 
at  once,  if  I  have  your  permission." 

"By  all  means." 

"It  seems  a  curious  position.  Surely — of  course,  I 
am  in  ignorance  of  the  whole  situation — surely  it  would 
be  easy  to  meet  these  people  and  have  the  whole  thing, 
whatever  it  is,  straightened  out.  It  is  intolerable  to 
be  spied  on." 

"No  doubt  in  an  ordinary  question,  let  us  say,  of 
competing  interests,  the  rational  solution  would  be  to 
reconcile  them ;  but  this  is  no  ordinary  affair.  We  sus- 
pect we  have  to  deal  with  scoundrels,  although  we  do 
not  know  who,  or  what,  or  where  they  are.  To  com- 
promise might  be  to  compound  a  felony." 

"Were  I  in  your  shoes,  dealing  with  dangerous  men, 
I  should  consult  Scotland  Yard,"  said  the  doctor  with 
decision. 

"There  may  be  dark  designs,  but  there  has  been  no 
actual  crime  committed.  Our  story  is  bald  enough. 
It  is  that  an  unknown  man  has  been  prowling  round  a 
quiet  country  house  in  the  North  of  Scotland,  and  that 
we  think  his  object  is  to  steal  something.  That,  of 


72  THE  SEARCHERS 

course,  is  pure  conjecture.  Still,  I  am  inclined  to  urge 
the  colonel  to  act  as  you  suggest." 

"I  should  not  hesitate.  Scotland  Yard  may  not  be 
able  to  work  miracles,  but  it  has  amazing  knowledge, 
and  I  shall  be  surprised  if  it  does  not  know  a  good 
deal  about  the  gentlemen  who  call  themselves  'The 
Searchers,'  if  such  a  body  exists."  He  held  out  his 
hand.  "I  am  sorry  I  must  leave  you,  but  I  have  a  long 
run  into  the  country  to  see  a  patient.  Count  on  my 
help ;  and  if  I  think,  as  a  medical  man,  that  you  ought 
to  be  here,  I  shall  telegraph  you  at  once." 

He  went  off  on  his  rounds  and  I  hastened  back  to 
the  house  to  pack.  My  uncle  handed  me  a  generous 
sum  by  way  of  travelling  expenses,  with  instructions  to 
telegraph  him  if  I  required  more.  He  came  with  me 
to  the  station,  where  I  sent  off  a  telegram  to  Keene- 
Leslie  asking  him  to  meet  me  in  London.  It  also  con- 
cerned Mr.  Wakeford  of  the  Omnivagants'  Club. 

"I'm  an  old  crock,  Neil,  and  I  must  stay  where  I 
am,  but  I  would  give  much  to  be  able  to  go  with  you," 
said  the  colonel.  "Bring  Hugh  here  if  you  can,  and 
take  care  of  yourself.  I  have  a  queer  feeling  that  you 
may  be  going  into  danger." 

I  rallied  him  on  his  forebodings  and  the  old  man 
said  no  more,  but  the  warm  grip  of  his  hand  told  me, 
as  no  words  could,  his  feelings  when  he  gave  me  good- 
bye. 

The  bright  delicacy  of  the  morning  had  faded.  The 
sky  was  slowly  lowering.  Far  up,  above  the  valley, 
a  thin  curtain  of  haze — herald  of  a  shower — dulled 
the  keen  edge  of  the  sky-line  and  a  southerly  wind 
sprang  up,  driving  the  distant  rain  nearer.  Where,  in 
the  morning,  the  outlines  of  the  mountain-ridges  had 
been  picked  out  with  precision  in  the  clear  light,  misty 
pennants  now  trailed  in  the  wind  from  every  spur. 


THE  SEARCHERS  73 

The  rain  began  to  drum  steadily  on  the  window.  My 
last  glimpse  of  the  Glen  was  a  blurred  picture  of  rap- 
idly massing  clouds  and  spectral  woods,  with  Ben 
Muichdhui  and  Braeriach,  like  gloomy  visionaries, 
brooding  behind  their  cowls  over  the  mist-filled  valley. 


CHAPTER  XI 

THE  more  I  knitted  my  brows  over  the  affair  the 
more  was  I  convinced  of  a  link  between  the  three  mys- 
terious men,  the  red-haired  impostor  in  Edinburgh, 
the  visitor  to  Hugh  Forbes  in  Italy,  and  the  prowler 
at  The  Bield.  Filled  with  impatience,  I  must  have 
plucked  out  my  watch  every  quarter  of  an  hour  of  the 
journey,  but  at  long  last  I  reached  the  Waverley  Sta- 
tion, and  hurried  to  Jura  Street.  There  I  found  a  tele- 
gram from  Keene-Leslie  asking  me  to  breakfast  with 
him  in  his  rooms  next  day. 

I  caught  the  night  train  and  in  the  morning  went 
straight  to  Tony's  address,  where  I  found  breakfast 
waiting  and  my  host  absorbing  the  "Times." 
.     "What's  in  the  wind,  Neil?"  he  asked  after  greet- 
ings, as  we  sat  down  to  kidneys  and  bacon. 

I  told  him  my  story:  Hugh  Forbes's  letter  to  the 
colonel;  the  visitor  Wakeford  at  Ubriano;  the  mys- 
terious prowler  at  The  Bield;  the  extraordinary  link- 
ing up  of  the  words  "Exultabunt  Domino"  in  the  faded 
paper  at  The  Bield  with  "ossa  kumiliata"  in  the  one 
concealed  in  the  cigarette  by  the  man  calling  himself 
M'Nair,  and  "The  Leopard's  Eye"  being  mentioned 
in  the  old  inventory  and  referred  to  by  Wakeford. 

Tony  gave  a  long  whistle. 

"These  are  deep  waters  .  .  .  Let  me  tell  you  that 
there  is  nobody  called  Wakeford  who  is  a  member  of 
the  Omnivagants'  Club,"  he  announced.  "When  I  got 
your  telegram  I  went  straight  to  the  secretary — an  old 
friend  of  mine — and  found  that  there  never  has  been 

74 


THE  SEARCHERS  75 

one  of  that  name  a  member  of  the  club  since  its  forma- 
tion fifteen  years  ago.  The  secretary  took  the  trouble 
to  go  through  the  annual  lists." 

"So  that  the  mission  to  Hugh  Forbes  in  Italy  was 
of  such  a  character  that  the  emissary  used  a  false 
name." 

"Palpably.  Of  course,  that  in  itself  doesn't  label 
him  a  criminal;  but  putting  the  story  together,  it  seems 
plain  that  'Wakeford'  is  on  the  track  of  the  paper 
and  wants  it  badly.  'The  Leopard's  Eye !'  'The  Leop- 
ard's Eye!'"  he  repeated.  "The  name  intrigues  me, 
Neil.  When  it  comes  to  light — if  it  ever  does — may  I 
be  there  to  see!" 

He  went  to  a  desk  and  took  out  a  neat  bundle  of 
documents,  from  which  he  selected  two. 

"This  will  interest  you,  Neil,"  he  said,  as  he  opened 
one  of  them.  "It  is  from  Scotland  Yard,  telling  me 
that  the  finger-print  taken  from  your  shirt-front  is  not 
one  on  the  books — that  is,  the  Habitual  Criminals 
Register  of  New  Scotland  Yard.  There  they  have  a 
little  collection  approaching  three  hundred  thousand 
prints,  and  a  well-nigh  perfect  system  of  classification. 
You  may  take  it  that  the  owner  of  the  fingers  is  not  a 
known  criminal.  As  for  'The  Searchers,'  the  name 
may  be  a  blind.  If  any  such  society  exists,  I  don't  see 
why  it  should  advertise  its  movements  by  chalking  up 
its  name  when  out  on  the  prowl,  unless  by  this  it  hopes 
to  terrorise  the  colonel." 

He  took  up  the  other  paper. 

"Here  is  a  memorandum  regarding  the  active  secret 
societies  known  to  the  authorities.  There  is  no  end 
to  them — nearly  all  of  Continental  origin.  There's 
not  much  romance  about  'em !  They  are  out  for  plun- 
der. The  record  ranges  from  full-blooded,  stick-at- 
nothing  Anarchists  to  mutual-aid-to-thieving  clubs. 


76  THE  SEARCHERS 

They  have  all  sorts  of  names,  some  high-sounding, 
some  fantastic,  others  merely  grotesque,  from  'The 
Brothers  of  the  Violet  Crown'  to  'The  Spotted  Kan- 
garoos.' Some  are  semi-political.  All  reek  with  ras- 
cality. Most  of  them  are  under  surveillance,  and  know 
it.  'The  Searchers'  (assuming  that  /  Frugatori  stands 
for  that)  are  unknown,  at  least  under  that  name.  But 
I'll  get  into  communication  with  my  Scotland  Yard 
friend,  and  fix  up  a  meeting  with  him.  You  have  six 
hours  before  the  boat-train  starts." 

He  went  to  the  'phone,  and  in  a  few  minutes  came 
back  to  tell  me  that  a  meeting  had  been  arranged  for 
eleven  o'clock.  In  the  interval  I  gave  him  the  facts 
again  carefully  and  exhaustively,  while  he  took  notes 
and  familiarised  himself  with  the  whole  story.  At  the 
end  of  an  hour  his  grasp  of  the  details  astonished  me. 

At  "The  Yard"  I  was  introduced  to  a  little,  quiet- 
looking  gentleman  wearing  gold-rimmed  spectacles. 
With  his  soft  voice  and  thoughtful  clean-cut  face,  his 
dreamer's  eyes  and  scholar's  stoop  he  would  have 
passed  as  a  detached  student,  but  his  name  is  a  great 
one  in  the  annals  of  English  criminology.  He  greeted 
Tony  as  an  old  friend,  and  heard  all  we  had  to  say, 
taking  notes  and  now  and  then  putting  a  question. 

"A  curious  story,"  he  said.  "There  is  a  gang — 
some  of  them  Italian — in  whom  we  are  much  inter- 
ested. We  suspect  them — inter  alia — of  forgery  of 
Italian  bank-notes.  They  are  the  same — at  least,  I 
think  so — as  the  lot  who  engineered  the  Linovada  Syn- 
dicate and  the  Plymouth  Mail  robbery." 

"Smart  jobs  bothl"  was  Tony's  comment. 

"Yes.  They  beat  us.  Undoubtedly  their  leaders 
are  men  of  brains,  with  the  command  of  money.  But 
although  they  have  a  catholic  taste  in  crime,  I  scarcely 
think  that  they  are  in  this  business." 


THE  SEARCHERS  [ft 

"What  about  the  Leopard's  Eye?" 

"It  sounds  like  a  jewel,  but  I  never  heard  of  it. 
However,  queer  things  happen  and  I  am  in  hopes  that 
we  may  round  them  up  one  of  these  days.  We  have 
no  direct  evidence,  but  I  may  tell  you  that  a  suspected 
house  near  London  'is  being  watched." 

"London?"  said  I.  "That  doesn't  look  as  if  they 
were  interested  in  an  out-of-the-way  Italian  village." 

"From  what  I  know  of  them  they  would  hasten  to 
Patagonia  to  bring  off  a  coup.  Of  course  your  lot  may 
not  be  the  same  gang  at  all.  By  the  way,  Mr.  Forbes, 
are  you  going  alone  to  Italy?" 

"That  is  my  intention." 

He  gave  a  glance  at  Tony. 

"You  may  be  in  danger.  If  'The  Searchers'  and 
the  gang  are  one  and  the  same,  they  will  stick  at  noth- 
ing. In  any  event,  Mr.  'Wakeford'  may  still  be  on  the 
alert.  I  will  give  you  an  introduction  to  the  Chief  of 
Police  at  Naples.  You  may  require  it."  He  wrote  a 
few  words  on  the  back  of  a  card  and  handed  it  to  me. 

The  rest  of  the  interview  concerned  details  for  his 
notes,  and  soon  Tony  and  I  were  out  in  the  drizzle  in 
Westminster. 

We  had  not  gone  more  than  a  dozen  yards  when 
he  said,  "You  are  not  going  to  Italy  alone,  Neil.  I'm 
going  with  you.  What  say  you?" 

"I  should  like  it  above  all  things.  But  are  you 
free?" 

"More  free  than  I'll  be  for  months.  As  a  matter 
of  fact,  I  thought  of  going  North  for  some  fishing, 
but  in  this  climate" — he  pointed  to  the  sodden  streets — 
"the  idea  of  Italy  appeals  to  me.  Why  not?  I'll  pack 
up  in  a  trice,  have  some  lunch,  and  then  'see  Naples 
and  live!'" 

The  prospect  of  his  help  and  company  delighted 


78  THE  SEARCHERS 

me.  We  lunched  together,  Tony  talking  as  gaily  as  a 
schoolboy  on  the  first  day  of  the  holidays  and  an  hour 
afterwards  we  boarded  the  boat-train. 

Dull  and  dispiriting  weather  all  the  way  from  Char- 
ing Cross,  a  rough  Channel  passage  and  an  icy  wind 
made  the  warmth  of  the  railway  carriage  at  Boulogne 
most  welcome. 

Paris  left  behind,  the  journey  was  drab  enough — 
monotonous  regiments  of  poplars,  characterless  coun- 
try, and  sluggish  streams.  Now  and  again  we  rattled 
through  busy  towns,  the  green  of  their  jalousies  reliev- 
ing the  predominant  grey.  The  blue  Lake  of  Bour- 
get,  speckled  with  white  sails  in  the  afternoon  sun  her- 
alded our  approach  to  Italy.  Then  night  absorbed 
colour  and  form  again  as  we  climbed  the  Alps  towards 
the  frontier. 

Past  Mont  Cenis  we  slid  down  into  Italy,  in  a  setting 
of  tumbling  streams,  hill  farms,  and  red-tiled  cam- 
paniles, to  the  dull  and  fertile  Plain  of  Lombardy. 
The  bright  Ligurian  coast  was  a  relief  to  the  eye ;  and 
after  a  night  of  roaring  tunnels  and  asphyxiating  smoke 
came  Leghorn,  and  with  it,  in  a  miraculously  clear 
morning,  my  first  view  of  the  real  Italy — sea  and  sky 
of  deep  sapphire;  the  delicate  lines  and  colouring  of 
the  fishing-towns;  the  Maremma  with  its  lovely  deso- 
lation, in  its  robes  of  cyclamen,  narcissus  and  tall  as- 
phodel, its  only  signs  of  life  the  skin-clad  shepherds 
with  their  giant  white  pecorajo  dogs  at  their  heels, 
watching  herds  of  goats  and  sheep  cropping  lentisk  and 
cytisus.  Then  the  Laurentian  forest,  old  lair  of  wild- 
boar  and  buffalo,  led  us  into  the  brooding  melancholy 
of  the  Roman  Campagna.  Here  were  ruined  villa  and 
temple  and  many  an  ancient  tower  and,  in  the  distance, 
floating  in  mid-air  like  a  gigantic  bubble,  the  great 
dome  of  St.  Peter's.  These  left  behind,  the  dark, 


THE  SEARCHERS  79 

wolf-haunted  mountains  of  the  Abruzzi  accompanied 
us  to  Naples. 

The  train  service  in  Italy  is  as  good  as  in  this  coun- 
try, but,  to  our  annoyance,  there  had  been  some  dis- 
location on  the  line,  and  it  was  past  midnight  when  we 
got  to  Castellamare  di  Stabia.  Chafing  at  the  delay, 
we  hurried  to  the  Piazza,  and  having  chartered  a  trap, 
took  our  seats  behind  a  handsome  vetturino,  who  was 
clad  point-device  in  smart  brown  boots  and  English- 
looking  clothes.  I  had  often  heard  of  the  excellence 
and  speed  of  Italian  horses,  but  the  only  notable  fea- 
tures of  our  beast  were  its  picturesque  nodding  crest 
of  plumes,  and  its  neck-chain  of  blue  beads  to  ward 
off  the  evil  eye.  Whether  the  driver  could  not  or 
would  not  hurry  I  cannot  tell,  but  to  my  disgust,  the 
trap  rumbled  along  tediously,  the  Rosinante  in  the 
shafts  apparently  half-asleep,  except  when  she  sus- 
pected the  slightest  ascent  in  the  road.  These  she 
picked  out  with  the  uncanny  precision  of  a  spirit-level 
and  crawled  up  them  at  a  snail's  pace. 

The  road  climbed  and  dipped  and  climbed  again, 
winding  through  the  grey-green  of  ancient  olive-groves, 
beyond  them  a  vignette  of  hills,  faint  in  the  half-light 
of  the  morning.  Had  I  been  travelling  for  pleasure 
I  could  have  enjoyed  every  yard  of  the  road — the 
sleeping  rose-coloured  villages,  the  fields  of  poppies 
and  bright-eyed  flowers,  the  delicate  green  of  the  ter- 
raced vineyards,  green  and  silver  olives,  the  ripening 
early  figs,  orange-groves,  and  the  torches  of  the  chest- 
nuts. The  atmosphere  was  of  perpetual  spring,  a  faint 
shimmer  in  the  air  deepening  into  purple  on  the  distant 
mountains,  below  us  a  sea  of  darkest  blue. 

But  in  my  impatient  mood  the  sound  of  the  leisurely 
hoof-beats  ticking  off  the  precious  seconds  was  nothing 
short  of  maddening.  Inwardly  I  was  fuming,  wonder- 


8o  THE  SEARCHERS 

ing  for  the  thousandth  time  if  I  would  be  in  time  to 
see  my  Uncle  Hugh  alive,  but  I  knew  no  Italian  beyond 
a  few  words,  and  to  my  "Avant'i!  avantif"  the  driver's 
invariable  answer  was  a  placid  "Benissimo!"  and  an 
illusory  flourish  of  his  whip,  accompanied  by  a  disarm- 
ing smile  and  a  glimpse  of  white  teeth. 

Soon  the  rim  of  the  hills  became  tinged  with  a  faint 
radiance,  and  on  the  soft  morning  air  came  subtle  aro- 
matic scents  from  the  woods.  The  sun  awoke  and 
cut  a  burnished  track  on  the  sea.  It  struck  the  olive- 
groves,  searching  out  the  trees  and  the  roofs  of  the 
houses  and  claiming  them  from  the  shadows;  strode 
up  the  hills,  disengaging  their  tranquil  details  from  the 
vague  distances  and  steadily  mounting  over  the  fairest 
sea  in  the  world,  unveiled  the  blue-black  splendour  of 
the  sky. 

"Guardate,  signore!  Come  e  carlno!  Una  bel- 
lezzaf"  said  the  imperturbable  driver  as  we  rounded 
a  bend  on  the  crest  of  the  ascent,  and  on  the  breast 
of  the  slope  towards  the  sea  we  saw,  close  at  hand,  a 
white  campanile  and  a  cluster  of  houses  sleeping 
around  its  base. 


CHAPTER  XII 

IT  was  very  early  when  we  entered  the  little  village. 
Nobody  was  astir,  and  there  was  an  exasperating  delay 
before  our  man  contrived  to  rouse  the  padrone  at  the 
modest  inn.  When  at  last  we  got  admittance,  we 
found  that  he  could  speak  a  little  English  and  I  was 
most  thankful  to  hear,  in  answer  to  my  anxious  in- 
quiry, that  he  knew  about  the  sick  English  gentleman. 
"Si!  Si!  He  is  ill  truly,  but  he  is  no  worse." 

While  we  breakfasted  sounds  of  life  came  from  the 
street — men  and  women  going  to  early  Mass,  the  thin 
musical  jangle  of  goat-bells,  the  trundling  of  carts  or 
barrows  piled  with  black  olives,  fish,  and  frutta  di 
mare.  Peasants,  wearing  their  coats  as  cloaks,  and 
carrying  long-handled  spades,  were  going  to  their  day's 
work,  and  everywhere  was  the  smell  of  roasting  coffee, 
mingled  with  the  indescribable,  unforgettable  odour 
that  clings  at  all  hours  and  seasons  to  an  Italian  village. 

We  hurried  through  breakfast  and  the  padrone 
(who  no  doubt  put  us  down  as  mad  Englishmen  who 
chose  to  travel  at  unearthly  hours)  showed  us  the  way 
to  a  clean  and  picturesque  villino  on  the  outskirts  of 
the  village.  A  little,  elderly  Italian  woman,  with  a 
red  coiffure  and  a  villager's  black-and-white  dress,  was 
standing  in  the  doorway,  and  as  soon  as  she  saw  us 
came  forward  with  the  low  graceful  bow  of  the  Italian 
peasant. 

"II  signore  desires  to  see  the  Signor  Forbesi,"  she 
said  when  I  had  introduced  Tony  and  myself.  "Benis- 

81 


82  THE  SEARCHERS 

simo!  II  signore  telegraphed,  non  e  verof  The 
Signer  Forbes!  has  expected  him,  tanto,  tantof" 

"I  am  not  too  late,  then?" 

"Grazie  a  Dio,  no !"  But  she  shook  her  head,  and 
her  little  black  eyes  filled  with  tears.  "//  signore  ees 
veree  weak — debolissimo — and  he  is  lonely." 

"Has  he  no  friends?    No  visitors?" 

"Sis  signore!  II  donor  e  and  sometimes  il  reverendo, 
the  parocco,  and  once  or  twice  a  stranger.  Madonna 
miaf  it  is  doloroso,  for  he  is  so  gentle  and  kind.  Now 
he  sleeps.  It  would  be  better,  forse,  not  to  waken 
him.  The  repose  refreshes  him,  for  he  tires  easily 
.  .  .  si  stanca  facilmente.  Friends  of  the  Signer  For- 
besi  are  welcome,  and  he  told  me  that  you  would  come. 
Sant'  Antonio!  What  a  pleasure  for  him.  Che 
placer ef" 

"Is  he  fit  to  go  a  journey?" 

"Nossignore!  Perdio,  he  will  never  voyage  again — 
except  once."  She  crossed  herself.  "The  doctor  had 
not  the  heart  to  tell  me  so,  but  I  know,  and  I  think 
the  Signor  Forbesi,  he  knows  too.  He  wished  to  see 
La  Scozia,  where  he  was  a  boy,  once  again;  but" — she 
broke  off  with  a  sad  gesture — "the  signore  will  see  him 
for  himself,  when  he  is  awake." 

She  led  the  way  inside  the  cottage  to  a  little  room 
embellished  with  earthenware  figures  of  saints  and 
paper  roses  from  the  last  Festa.  Marietta  was  her 
name,  she  told  me,  taking  me  all  in  with  her  little, 
shrewd,  black  eyes,  and  making  friendly  essays  in  small- 
talk,  in  her  quaint  and  kindly  diction.  She  knew  a 
little  English;  she  had  been  for  a  year,  when  she  was 
young,  in  America.  She  had  come  to  the  village  a 
long  time  ago — tanto  tempo  fa! — fifteen  years  ago, 
when  her  husband — poverino — had  been  carried  to 
the  Campo  Santo.  She  hailed  from  Padova.  Pado- 


THE  SEARCHERS  83 

vani  still  love  i  campi  loro — their  own  fields — ma  che 
vuole?  She  had  been  left  this  casaccia,  so  here  she 
came,  and  here  she  remained.  A  quiet  spot — tran- 
quillo — and  far  from  the  world  with  its  trouble;  but 
trouble  cannot  be  avoided,  and  no  one  is  happy,  salvo 
i  matti  ed  i  morti — except  the  crazy  and  the  dead. 
And  so  the  good  soul  went  on  making  conversation, 
until  she  thought  it  time  to  see  the  sick  man,  when  she 
left  us  for  a  few  minutes. 

Tony  suggested  that  I  ought  to  interview  my  uncle 
Hugh  alone,  and  I  agreed.  On  Marietta's  return  she 
led  me  along  the  passage  to  a  sunlit  room,  where  Hugh 
Forbes  lay  propped  up  on  a  couch  holding  out  a  thin 
hand  in  welcome.  His  smile  was  the  ghost  of  the  one 
in  the  portrait  at  Glen  Ciuin  and  a  glance  at  him  told 
me  that  he  was  nearly  done  with  the  business  of  this 
world. 

"You  are  Neil,"  he  said,  his  hand  in  mine.  He 
spoke  slowly  and  with  difficulty.  "It  is  good  to  see 
you." 

"And  you,  uncle?"  I  said  as  cheerfully  as  I  could, 
but  with  a  weight  on  my  heart.  "Uncle  Ewan  sent 
me  to  bring  you  home." 

He  shook  his  head.  "I'm  past  it.  I'm  breaking 
the  doctor's  orders  by  talking,  but  tell  me  all  about 
Ewan  and  the  old  place." 

A  tearing  cough  shook  him. 

"Promise  me  not  to  talk  meanwhile,"  I  said.  He 
nodded,  and  his  clasp  of  my  hand  tightened  as  I  be- 
gan to  tell  him  of  the  colonel  and  the  North  Country. 
He  lay  quite  still,  listening,  a  smile  on  his  worn  face. 
I  was  anxious  not  to  weary  him,  and  was  relieved  when, 
after  half-an-hour,  Marietta's  light  knock  sounded  on 
the  door.  She  came  to  tell  us  that  the  doctor  was  com- 
ing down  the  village  street. 


84  THE  SEARCHERS 

The  doctor — a  pleasant  gentleman — was  very  glad 
to  see  me,  as  his  patient  had  been  buoyed  up  by  my 
telegram,  and  disappointed  because  of  the  delay  in  my 
arrival.  He  was  with  the  patient  for  a  few  minutes 
only,  and  when  he  came  out  from  the  sickroom  his 
first  words  were  to  forbid  me  to  allow  my  uncle  to 
speak. 

"But  I  have  something  of  great  importance  to  dis- 
cuss with  him,  doctor,"  I  explained. 

"I  have  given  him  a  sleeping-draught,  and  when  he 
wakens  you  may  talk  to  him.  But  on  no  account  must 
the  Signor  Forbes  utter  a  word.  Haemorrhage,  you 
understand!  Caspita!  It  would  be  most  dangerous. 
He  may  write  a  few  words  if  there  is  anything  of  such 
importance  as  to  warrant  this,  but  a  few  only.  Per 
Bacco!  to  exhaust  him  would  mean  that  he  might  not 
rally  again.  He  has  wonderful  spirit,  but,  as  you  no 
doubt  see  for  yourself,  the  end  is,  at  the  outside,  only 
a  matter  of  a  few  days.  It  would  be  wise  to  give  him 
the  afternoon  to  himself." 

He  promised  to  call  again  in  the  evening,  and  left 
me  after  once  more  counselling  me  to  avoid  tiring  or 
exciting  the  invalid. 

Tony  and  I  went  back  to  the  inn,  and  in  the  after- 
noon set  out  to  explore  the  neighbourhood.  We  were 
amply  rewarded.  The  village  was  a  quiet  little  Noah's 
Ark  of  a  place,  off  the  beaten  track,  unspoiled  by 
sprawling  hotels  and  an  excess  of  villadom.  Every 
turn  of  the  road  in  that  beautiful  spot  delighted  the 
eye  and  the  heart.  There  the  grey  rock  was  clad  with 
rich  soil,  which  gave  lavish  thank-offering  to  the  sun 
in  lemon-groves,  in  orange-gardens,  in  walnut-trees 
fresh  in  their  early  leafage,  in  dark  cypresses,  the 
whole  tessellated  with  vivid  patches  of  flowers;  while 


THE  SEARCHERS  85 

the  volcanic  hills  glowed  in  the  sun's  alchemy,  with 
the  sheen  and  lustre  of  the  grape. 

Cliffs,  honeycombed  by  green  caves,  fell  to  a  sea 
placid  as  the  sky,  blue  as  the  speedwell,  save  where  its 
fringe  crumbled  into  dazzling  white  on  the  shining 
curve  of  the  sand.  A  winding  cliff-path  invited  us  and 
half-way  down  it  we  turned  aside  to  rest  in  the  shade 
of  a  clump  of  trees.  A  few  brown  sails,  far  out, 
flecked  the  blue  floor  of  the  sea,  but  there  was  only 
one  craft  near.  It  was  a  little  launch,  painted  light 
green  with  a  white  line.  Its  clean,  lithe  lines,  long 
lateen  yard  and  raking  spar  drew  our  admiration  as  it 
ran  into  a  cove,  and  a  tall  man  in  white  stepped  out 
of  it  on  to  the  tiny  landing-stage.  The  half-dozen 
Southern  oarsmen,  almost  as  dark  as  Arabs  and  as 
wiry,  bent  again  to  the  oars  and  the  beautiful  little 
craft  slipped  through  the  water  like  a  witch,  and  dis- 
appeared round  the  point. 

The  man  came  up  the  cliff-path  and  passed  within  a 
dozen  yards  of  us.  Absorbed  in  thought,  he  did  not 
look  in  our  direction,  and  even  if  he  had,  I  doubt  if  he 
would  have  noticed  us  lying  in  the  shade.  He  was 
very  tall  and  lithe,  with  strength  and  ease  in  his 
movements.  Presently  he  halted  and  having  lit  a  cig- 
arette, took  off  his  straw  hat  to  fan  himself.  His  face 
was  a  handsome  and  refined  one  and  the  whole  man — 
the  small,  well-poised  head,  the  lean  flank,  the  clean 
lines  of  his  spare  figure,  the  swing  of  his  easy  stride — 
recalled  some  well-bred,  highly-strung  animal.  His 
clothes,  of  some  white  stuff,  were  well  cut  and  English. 
His  eyes  were  dark  and  heavy-lidded,  and  a  carefully- 
pointed,  little  dark  beard  could  not  spoil  the  line  of  an 
eloquent-looking  jaw.  He  swung  up  the  path  and  dis- 
appeared from  view. 

We  lingered  a  while  and  Tony  went  back  to  the  inn, 


86  THE  SEARCHERS 

while  I  hastened  to  the  cottage,  feeling  rather  guilty, 
to  find  that  my  uncle  Hugh  was  still  asleep.  But  Mari- 
etta had  a  piece  of  information.  The  signer  with  the 
dark  beard — so  ! — she  pointed  her  brown  fingers  from 
her  chin — Signer  Vachifordis — had  just  called.  He 
wished  to  see  her  lodger,  but  she  had  refused.  He  had 
offered  her  money;  but  no!  She  refused.  When  she 
told  him  that  the  signore's  nephew  was  here,  he  said 
nothing,  and  went  away  quickly.  Had  not  the  signore 
met  him? 

"Signor  Wakeford?  A  tall  man,  Marietta?"  I 
asked,  trying  to  keep  excitement  out  of  my  voice. 

"Even  taller  than  you,  signore,  wearing  a  straw  hat, 
and  dressed  all'  inglese" 

I  dashed  out  and  ran  down  the  dusty  road  to  the 
cliff-path.  The  green  launch  was  slipping  round  the 
bend  and  the  sun  glanced  on  the  white  straw  hat  of  a 
tall  man  in  the  stern.  I  was  too  late,  but  I  had  seen 
"Mr.  Wakeford,"  and  I  thought  that  I  would  know 
him  again.  I  hurried  to  the  inn,  where  I  found  Tony, 
and  told  him  that  the  man  in  white  was  none  other 
than  "Mr.  Wakeford,"  and  that  his  launch  had  taken 
him  round  the  point. 

"This  is  luck,  and  something  after  my  own  heart. 
You  must,  of  course,  go  back  to  the  house.  Your  uncle 
is  at  death's  door.  Meanwhile  I'll  try  to  make  'Wake- 
ford's'  acquaintance.  He'll  likely  return.  Anyhow, 
he  can't  be  far  away,  seeing  he  comes  and  goes  in  a 
launch.  Have  no  fears.  I'll  come  back  here  and  re- 
port progress,  and  carefully  avoid  any  interest  in  you 
or  your  movements.  Off  you  go,  while  I  do  a  little 
thinking." 

I  hastened  to  the  house,  and  waited  until  later  in 
the  evening,  when  the  sick  man  awoke.  He  was  very 
weak,  and  his  big  blue  eyes  burned  in  their  hollows, 


THE  SEARCHERS  87 

but  his  mind  was  alert.  When  I  broached  the  subject 
of  his  letter  he  nodded  in  comprehension,  and  pointed 
to  a  little  cabinet.  I  handed  him  paper  and  pencil, 
and  he  wrote  with  painful  care :  "In  the  box  are  all  my 
papers.  Keys  under  my  pillow.  Will  show  you  them 
to-morrow." 

Keeping  the  doctor's  injunctions  in  mind,  I  did  not; 
talk  much,  but  sat  beside  his  couch  and  read  aloud 
from  a  copy  of  an  English  newspaper  which  I  had 
bought  at  Naples.  The  doctor  paid  another  visit  in 
the  evening,  but  could  say  no  more  than  that  he  was 
no  worse.  Not  wishing  to  leave  him,  I  got  Marietta 
to  make  a  shake-down  for  me  in  a  little  annexe  within 
easy  call  of  him.  She,  good  soul,  promised  to  look 
into  the  sickroom  now  and  then  while  I  rested.  The 
fresh  air  had  made  me  drowsy,  and  I  fell  into  a  light 
sleep.  Twice  I  woke  and  went  into  his  room  on  tip- 
toe, but  he  was  sleeping  peacefully  and  his  breathing 
was  less  laboured.  Soon  I  dozed  off  again,  to  waken 
with  a  vague  feeling  that  I  had  heard  something  mov- 
ing. It  was  now  in  the  small  hours,  and  the  faint  early 
light  revealed  a  tired-looking  figure  by  the  table  be- 
side the  open  window.  A  couple  of  strides  brought  me 
to  its  side.  It  was  Hugh  Forbes,  and  when  I  touched 
him  I  knew  that  the  wanderer  had  found  Home.  He 
lay  with  his  head  resting  on  an  arm  thrown  across  the 
table,  as  naturally  as  in  sleep.  Death  had  claimed  him 
gently. 


CHAPTER  XIII 

THE  dead  man's  papers  were  easily  found,  for  the 
key  of  the  little  cabinet,  as  he  had  written,  was  under 
his  pillow.  Before  awakening  old  Marietta,  I  opened 
the  cabinet  and  took  possession  of  its  contents.  With 
the  man  "Wakeford"  in  the  neighbourhood,  I  deter- 
mined to  lose  no  time.  After  securing  the  papers  I 
roused  Marietta,  who,  in  the  intervals  of  tears,  helped 
me  to  make  a  thorough  search  of  the  room.  We  found 
nothing  beyond  a  few  personal  belongings.  Having 
locked  the  door,  I  left  the  cottage,  and  made  my  way 
in  the  radiant  hush  of  the  morning  through  the  quiet 
street  to  the  inn.  Tony  was  in  bed,  but  when  he  heard 
of  poor  Hugh  Forbes's  death,  he  soon  joined  me  in  an 
examination  of  the  papers.  Most  of  them  related  to 
ordinary  matters  of  business — jottings  regarding  his 
West  African  affairs  and  a  small  balance  in  the  Credito 
Italiano  at-Naples,  addresses,  letters,  memoranda,  and 
so  on;  but  among  them  was  a  sealed  envelope.  It  was 
endorsed  in  my  uncle's  handwriting,  thus:  "Referred 
to  in  my  letter  to  E.,  and  found  by  me  two  days  later 
when  arranging  my  affairs. — H.  F."  Eagerly  I  slit 
open  the  envelope  and  drew  out  the  enclosure.  It  was 
a  single  sheet  of  paper,  and  when  I  unfolded  it  my 
pulse  quickened,  for  its  right  edge  was  serrated,  and 
.the  first  words  which  caught  my  eye  were  two  at  the 
foot — "f  Exultabunt  Domino." 

Here  was  a  discovery!  The  only  decipherable 
words  in  the  old  paper  at  The  Bield  were  the  same 
as  those  in  the  paper  before  us.  They  were  in  exactly 

88 


THE  SEARCHERS  89 

the  same  position  and  were  preceded  by  the  same, 
little  Roman  cross.  Careless,  easy-going  Hugh  Forbes 
had  preserved,  probably  through  sentiment,  his  copy 
of  the  old  family  paper,  the  other  half  of  which  was 
presumably  in  the  hands  of  "The  Searchers."  The 
letters,  as  in  the  paper  stolen  from  my  cabinet  in  Jura 
Street,  were  strung  together  without  punctuation,  but 
the  writing  was  legible  and  it  was  easy  to  arrive  ap- 
proximately at  the  words.  For  the  reader's  conven- 
ience, these  are  separated  in  the  copy  given  below.  The 
paper  is  innocent-looking  enough,  but  over  it  men  have 
schemed,  plotted,  lied  and  betrayed,  and  through  its 
lure  been  struck  out  of  this  life : 

Anno  Redemptoris  MDLXIH 

Ye  month  Aprile.  .  .  .  From  Gleann  Ciuin  His  house 

Houres  to  Ye  Learg  Ghruamach  North  Jawes  &  in  other 

Houres  from  Ye  Jaives  to  Ye  Saddle  &  Hiahst  P* 

of  Ye  Pass.  .  .  .  Now  First  throe 

track  till  yow  do  come  neare 

lyes  among  Create  Monta 

a  Toyle  to  eneonter 

Strike  to  Ye  Heart 

Sron  na  Leirg 

ontill  yow  do  come 

This  runeth  but  no 

ane  neybour  Wa 

Salute  oure  Three  trustie  friendt 

Anent  these  I  did  fullie  in 

from  Ye  tail 

no  more 

t  Exultabunt  Domino 

Several  Gaelic  words  were  easily  picked  out — 
namely,  "Gleann  Cimn"  "Sron  na  Leirg,"  and  "Learg 
Ghruamach"  The  first  is,  of  course,  the  name  of  my 
native  Glen,  in  which  stands  The  Bield.  Sron  na  Leirg 
is  the  great  hill,  nearly  four  thousand  feet  high,  which 
mounts  guard  at  the  north  of  the  Pass  and  looks  down 
between  Braeriach  and  Ben  Muichdhui  to  Glen  Dee. 
The  third  is  the  Larig  Ghru'  ("The  Forbidding  Pass") 


90  THE  SEARCHERS 

which  links  the  Spey  Valley  with  the  Mar  country  and 
Deeside,  and  climbs  toilsomely  up  the  highest  mountain 
mass  in  Britain,  through  the  wild  recesses  of  the  Cairn- 
gorms. 

It  was  plain  that  the  writing  was  part  of  instruc- 
tions regarding  something,  but,  alas!  it  was  equally 
plain  that  it  was  useless  without  the  other  part.  Time 
and  again  we  read  it,  backward  and  forward,  from 
top  to  bottom  and  vice  versa,  but  to  no  purpose. 
"Strike  to  Ye  Heart!'  "Salute  oure  Three  trustie 
friends"  Whose  heart  was  to  be  struck  at?  Who 
were  the  three  trusty  friends? 

"A  duplicate  of  what  once  was  written  on  the  faded 
paper  at  The  Bield,"  said  Tony.  "This  is  what  'Wake- 
ford'  wants,  and  what  he  won't  get,  if  we  can  help  it." 

"Have  you  seen  him?" 

"Not  yet.  But  I  had  a  chat  with  some  of  the  boat- 
men, and  I've  found  out  that  he  is  coming  back  to-day. 
I'll  contrive  to  strike  up  an  acquaintance  with  him 
somehow  or  other.  Leave  that  to  me.  He  has  a  villa 
near  here,  and  with  a  bit  of  luck  I'll  get  inside  it." 

"And  then?" 

"Await  developments.  'Wakeford'  seems  to  be  an 
interesting  specimen,  rich  and  generous — 'ha  molti 
quattrini  e  le  mani  bucate'  ('plenty  of  money  and  the 
hands  perforated') — so  one  of  his  boatmen  told  me. 
I  shall  be  a  simple-minded  English  tourist — a  Mr.  John 
Robinson — chasing  the  sun.  He  may  offer  me  hospi- 
tality, especially  if  he  is  out  for  information  regarding 
your  uncle  Hugh.  In  case  he  knows  that  we  arrived 
here  together,  my  story  shall  be  that  I  struck  up  a 
casual  acquaintance  with  you  in  the  train.  All  I  know 
about  you  is  your  name  and  that  you  came  to  see  a 
friend  who  was  ill,  and  who  has  died  since  you 
arrived.  I  shall  not  even  attend  the  funeral,  so  that 


THE  SEARCHERS  91 

Wakeford  may  not  suspect  that  we  have  anything  in 
common.  Of  course,  he  may  be  a  wary  bird,  and  show 
no  desire  for  my  society.  We  shall  see." 

The  safe  keeping  of  the  paper  was  then  discussed 
and  we  decided  to  post  an  exact  copy  to  Tony's  ad- 
dress in  London  and  another  to  the  colonel  at  The 
Bield.  The  personal  documents  I  put  into  my  suit- 
case, but  the  precious  paper  demanded  more  than  or- 
dinary safeguards.  We  determined  to  take  no  risks. 
Having  added  another  sheet  to  the  paper's  wrapping, 
I  took  off  my  right  boot,  put  the  document  in  the  mid- 
dle of  the  sole  and  pulled  the  boot  on  again,  resolved 
that  there  the  paper  should  remain  except  at  night, 
when  it  would  be  under  my  pillow.  Short  of  my  mur- 
der or  abduction,  its  safe  conduct  was  assured. 

In  the  forenoon  I  made  arrangements  for  the 
funeral  on  the  morrow.  Tony  did  not  accompany  me. 
From  that  moment  we  played  the  part  of  casual  hotel 
acquaintances.  If  he  had  anything  to  tell  me,  he  would 
find  ways  and  means  of  doing  so,  either  by  slipping  me 
a  note  or  seeing  me  in  my  room  late  in  the  evening. 
Looking  round  the  dozing  village,  I  was  inclined,  after 
I  left  Tony,  to  scout  the  idea  of  being  watched,  but  I 
took  his  counsel  and  kept  a  sharp  look-out  for  stran- 
gers as  I  made  my  way  back  to  the  house  with  the 
precious  paper  in  my  boot. 

There  I  learned  that  no  one  had  called  except  the 
doctor  and  the  parocco — the  village  priest,  and  after 
I  had  completed  the  arrangements  and  given  Marietta 
generous  payment  for  her  kindness  to  the  dead  man, 
I  came  back  to  the  inn. 

Tony  had  disappeared  early  in  the  day.  "Don't 
worry  about  me,  Neil,"  were  his  parting  words.  "I'm 
used  to  playing  a  'lone  hand.'  I'll  report  in  due  course 
and  if  I'm  delayed  I'll  let  you  know  my  movements." 


92  THE  SEARCHERS 

The  hours  passed,  and  as  there  was  no  sign  of  him, 
I  felt  a  little  uneasy  on  his  account,  but  later  in  the  day 
a  note  came  from  him.  It  ran :  "I'm  not  wasting  time. 
Meet  me  at  Bertolini's,  Naples,  to-morrow  evening; 
and  if  I  don't  appear,  go  straight  to  London,  where 
I  shall  join  you." 

Much  relieved  (for  I  had  a  thorough  belief  in 
Tony's  courage  and  acumen),  I  went  to  bed  early, 
after  having  locked  my  room  door,  put  the  paper  un- 
der my  pillow  and  laid  my  revolver  within  easy  reach. 
Notwithstanding  these  precautions,  I  spent  a  restless 
night — quite  unnecessarily,  for  not  a  sound  came  from 
the  house  except  the  snores  of  the  padrone.  But  I 
rose  vaguely  uneasy,  determined  to  meet  Tony  in 
Naples  with  the  least  possible  delay. 

An  English  clergyman  from  Castellamare,  the  doc- 
tor, a  couple  of  brown  boatmen  who  used  to  row  the 
invalid  out  in  the  bay,  old  Marietta,  and  myself  were 
present  when  Hugh  Forbes  was  laid  to  rest  in  the  lit- 
tle, sunlit  graveyard.  Half-an-hour  later  I  was  ready 
to  start  for  Naples  and  after  many  tearful  adieux  and 
invocations  to  the  Saints  on  my  behalf  from  Marietta, 
I  said  good-bye  to  the  little  paradise  of  colour  and 
sunshine. 


CHAPTER  XIV 

WHEN  I  arrived  at  Naples  I  was  driven  through 
the  ill-paved,  noisy  streets  up  to  Bertolini's.  There  I 
found  no  trace  of  Keene-Leslie,,nor  was  there  any  mes- 
sage from  him,  but  as  his  note  had  asked  me  to  meet 
him  in  the  evening,  his  absence  did  not  perturb  me. 

Bertolini's  caravanserai  has  a  matchless  situation. 
I  did  nothing  all  forenoon  except  feast  my  eyes  on 
the  glorious  panorama  from  the  terrace — the  domes 
and  towers  of  the  great,  beautiful,  evil  city,  bathed 
in  warm  spring  sunlight;  the  giant  mass  of  the  Cas- 
tello  dell'  Ovo,  dominating  Santa  Lucia,  stretching  into 
the  sea  like  some  huge  saurian;  nearer,  Sant'  Elmo 
and  the  magnificent  Convent  of  San  Martino;  the 
sparkling  multi-coloured  expanse  of  the  bay  dotted  with 
lateen  sails;  here  and  there  great  ships,  outward  bound 
or  making  the  port;  Capri's  twin  violet  peaks  in  the 
distance. 

There  had  been  a  heavy  shower  during  the  previous 
evening.  The  scented  breeze  on  the  height,  purer  than 
along  the  shore,  was  deliciously  cool  after  the  rain  and 
in  its  fresh  fragrance  I  idled  the  morning  away. ,  In 
the  afternoon,  as  there  was  still  no  sign  of  Tony,  I 
spent  the  time  sauntering  about,  contentedly  waiting 
for  him.  Everybody  seemed  to  be  out-of-doors.  I 
strolled  along  the  Strada  di  Roma,  looking  at  the  shops 
and  the  carriages,  and  then  went  aimlessly  along  lesser 
streets,  to  carry  away  a  confused  impression  of  vistas 
of  balconies  and  light-green  shutters  rising  above  a  sea 
of  heads;  a  noisy,  chattering  crowd;  noisy  fiacres; 

93 


94 

noisy,  importunate  flower-sellers;  noisy  street  urchins — • 
swarms  of  them;  noisy  rumbling  wheels;  noisy  beggars 
of  all  ages,  none  of  them  picturesque,  some  of  them 
mangy-looking;  noise  everywhere,  steady,  continuous, 
deafening.  From  the  turmoil  I  was  thankful  to  escape 
to  the  cool,  quiet  sanctuary  of  the  Museo,  with  its 
glories  of  ancient  Greece  and  Italy,  its  famous  "Rest- 
ing Hermes,"  its  great  inscrutable  marble  gods  and 
emperors;  and  there,  under  the  spell  of  the  place — 
although  I  am  neither  a  connoisseur  nor  even  a  dilet- 
tante— I  lingered  until  nearly  sundown.  When  I  re- 
turned to  Bertolini's,  there  was  still  no  sign  of  Tony. 

Naples  has  an  evil  reputation,  but  her  lovers  say 
that  it  is  unmerited  and  that  a  person  of  sense  is  as 
safe  there  as  in  London.  Still,  one  hears  ugly  stories 
of  robberies  and  strange  disappearances,  of  the  in- 
credible tyranny  of  the  Camorra  and  the  open  defiance 
of  the  law  by  that  strange  and  sinister  secret  society. 
But,  just  as  in  London  there  are  places  which  a  man, 
alone  and  ignorant  of  the  language,  does  well  to  avoid, 
so  in  Naples  one  will  steer  clear  of  purlieus  such  as 
the  Porta  Nolana  or  the  Porta  Capuana  in  "La  Duch- 
essa"  quarter.  This  much  I  had  learned  from  Tony 
when  we  were  passing  through  Naples  and  I  made  up 
my  mind  to  pass  the  time  in  some  safe  and  public 
place. 

In  the  evening,  under  a  sky  whose  starry  brilliance 
made  the  swarms  of  electric  illuminations  look  taw- 
dry, I  made  my  way  to  the  gaily  lit  and  crowded  Villa 
Nazionale,  the  public  garden  between  the  Riviera  di 
Chiaja  and  the  waters  of  the  bay.  Feeling  pleasantly 
tired,  I  took  a  seat  among  the  trees  and  listened  for 
an  hour  or  so  to  the  orchestra's  melodious  waves  ebb- 
ing and  flowing  in  the  soft  windless  air.  How  far  away, 
in  every  sense,  was  Glen  Ciuin  with  its  lonely  rain- 


THE  SEARCHERS  95 

swept  hills,  I  thought,  as  I  watched  the  sparkling  cur- 
rent of  light-hearted  Neapolitans  flow  past,  a  gay, 
cheerful  crowd,  a  mosaic  of  smart  toilettes,  pretty 
faces,  bright  specks  of  blue  uniforms,  Bersaglieri  with 
their  cocks'  feathers,  fat,  comfortable  bourgeoisie, 
dark-eyed,  graceful  women,  slender,  well-set-up  men 
of  the  better  classes;  life,  colour,  and  movement  in  the 
warm  Southern  setting  where  "winter  is  but  a  word." 

An  elderly  cleric  sat  down  near  me,  and  leaned  back 
in  enjoyment,  beaming  contentedly  through  round, 
dark-rimmed  spectacles,  the  picture  of  tranquil  happi- 
ness, his  hand  softly  beating  time  on  his  knee  to  the 
swing  of  the  melody. 

The  music  ceased.  He  turned  a  broad,  smiling  face 
to  me,  politely  murmuring  something  in  Italian. 

"Scusif  Non  parlo  Italianof"  I  said,  regretting  my 
inability  to  converse  with  the  good-natured-looking  old 
gentleman.  He  had  a  long,  humorous  mouth,  black 
twinkling  eyes,  and  a  physique  which  must  have  been 
exceptional  in  his  younger  days,  before  his  frame  filled 
out  to  a  more  than  generous  amplitude.  I  put  him 
down  as  a  country  priest,  a  man  of  genial  and  easy 
temperament,  on  good  terms  with  himself  and  his 
flock. 

"Inglese?"  he  asked  in  a  rich,  deep,  bass  voice. 

"Si,  signore." 

Ah,  he  could  speak  English,  a  little,  but  a  very  little ! 
French,  perhaps,  I  knew?  I  had  only  a  happy-go- 
lucky  acquaintance  with  that  language,  but  he  was  at 
home  in  it,  and  politely  contrived  to  make  my  dot-and- 
carry-one  attempts  seem  quite  intelligible.  He  had 
been  in  England  many  years  ago.  Mon  Dieuf  how 
cold  it  was!  He  had  seen  those  brouillards.  Quel 
pays  afreuxf  Did  I  admir'e  Naples?  Naturellement, 
all  Englishmen  love  their  own  country  best.  C'etait 


96  THE  SEARCHERS 

tres   juste,   d'ailleurs.     Perhaps   I   lived   in  London? 

I  told  him  that  my  home  was  in  Scotland. 

Ah!  He  had  known  some  Scotsmen.  But  he  had 
forgotten  their  names.  He  had  hoped  one  day  to  sjee 
Scotland,  but  his  travelling  days,  he  was  afraid,  were 
over.  He  was  a  cure  de  campagne  in  the  North. 
Mais — on  ne  devait  pas  le  dire — his  heart  was  South- 
ern, and  now  and  then  he  came  here  to  get  the  sun — 
to  make  holiday — une  petite  vacance.  But  two  or 
three  days  were  enough.  Naples  was  too  noisy.  So 
he  continued  in  his  musical  bass  until  the  crowd  began 
to  disperse,  when  he  rose  and  with  a  courtly  bow  gave 
me  good-night.  His  broad  back  disappeared  in  the 
throng,  and  soon  afterwards  I  returned  to  the  hotel. 

There,  to  my  disquiet,  I  found  that  Keene-Leslie 
had  not  appeared.  I  waited  on  the  terrace  for  him 
in  a  lovely  nocturne  wrought  by  the  myriad  lights  of 
the  city  and  the  moonbeams  shimmering  on  the  bay, 
but  though  it  was  late  when  I  turned  in,  my  friend  had 
not  arrived.  Mindful  of  his  injunction  to  me  to  re- 
turn to  London,  if  he  failed  to  meet  me  at  Bertolini's, 
next  morning  found  me  seated  alone  in  a  compartment 
of  the  North  train.  It  was  within  an  ace  of  starting, 
when  a  porter  hurriedly  unlocked  the  door.  Who 
should  stumble  in  but  the  elderly  priest  of  the  previous 
night,  puffing  and  blowing  and  considerably  ruffled  in 
mind  and  body!  It  was  some  time  before  his  portly 
frame  recovered  its  placidity.  He  did  not  recognise 
me  until  I  gave  him  a  "Buon  giorno"  when  he  apolo- 
gised for  his  short  sightedness.  He  had  nearly  missed 
the  train  through  a  dolt  of  a  hotel  porter,  whom  he 
abused  with  unclerical  vigour  until  sheer  want  of  breath 
forced  him  to  stop.  Recovering  his  equanimity  and 
his  breath,  he  produced  an  Osservatore  Romano,  and 
read  it  steadily  through  his  pundit's  spectacles  for  half- 


THE  SEARCHERS  97 

an-hour  or  so.  Then  he  laid  it  down  to  engage  me  in 
conversation,  for  which  he  had  an  indefatigable  zest. 
I  could  not  follow  more  than  half  of  his  rapid  French, 
although  he  showed  great  ingenuity  in  trying  to  carry 
me  along  with  him.  The  talk  was  concerning  current 
Italian  politics,  of  which  I  knew  a  little,  and  the  time 
passed  pleasantly  enough;  but  I  was  always  mentally 
scrambling  after  one  remark  when  he  was  half-way 
through  his  next.  This  was  a  little  tiring  and  I  was 
not  sorry  when  he  produced  a  well-filled  cigar-case  and 
handed  it  to  me. 

"Except  good  music,  tobacco  is  my  only  luxury," 
said  he.  "I  own  to  a  weakness  for  a  Manilla.  You 
will,  I  think,  like  this  brand.  It  is  of  as  good  a  leaf 
as  ever  caught  the  sun.  Sometimes  I  am  ashamed  of 
my  weakness,  but  when  I  recall  what  I  suffered  when 
I  gave  up  snuff,  I  refuse  to  face  a  farewell  to  my 
cigars." 

We  lit  up  and  he  settled  himself  in  his  corner,  puff- 
ing away  with  the  most  obvious  enjoyment.  After  a 
minute  or  two  he  laid  his  cigar  down  as  if  he  had 
forgotten  something,  produced  his  breviary,  and  be- 
gan to  read  his  office. 

I  took  up  his  newspaper  and  tried  to  translate  a  few 
paragraphs,  and  when  next  I  looked  his  way,  the  bre- 
viary was  face  downward  on  his  knees,  and  his  head  was 
comfortably  tucked  into  the  corner  of  the  compart- 
ment. His  breathing  was  deep  and  regular,  his  eyes 
closed  in  placid,  child-like  sleep. 

It  was  then  that  I  happened  to  notice  his  Manilla 
between  the  fingers  of  his  right  hand,  hanging  over 
the  edge  of  the  seat.  As  the  cigar  was  still  alight,  I 
leaned  over  and,  without  awakening  him,  gently  re- 
moved it.  While  doing  so  I  was  struck  by  a  peculiarity 
about  his  hands.  They  were  very  large  and  broad, 


$8  THE  SEARCHERS 

and  covered  with  a  freakish  coat  of  thick,  coarse,  dark 
hair,  from  the  wrists  almost  to  the  middle  joints  of 
the  fingers.  There  was  something  jarring,  even  repel- 
lent, in  them — the  monstrous  suggestion  of  a  hairy 
animal  imprisoned,  peering  out  from  the  sleeve.  I 
trifled  with  the  fantastic  idea  for  a  moment,  and  then 
settled  myself  in  my  corner  again.  A  quarter  of  an 
hour  or  more  passed  and  my  fellow-traveller  showed 
no  signs  of  awakening.  On  the  contrary,  he  began 
to  snore  gently,  neither  raucously  nor  unpleasantly,  but 
with  a  placid  rhythm  which  grew  positively  infectious. 
I  caught  myself  nodding.  The  rumble  of  the  train 
became  a  lullaby;  my  eyelids  were  weighted  with  lead; 
a  gentle  lassitude  stole  up  my  legs.  I  grew  drowsier 
and  drowsier.  The  carriage  and  the  peaceful,  clean- 
shaven disc  of  my  companion's  face  swung  round 
slowly  and  back  again,  to  stop  with  a  sudden  jerk  as 
I  hovered  on  the  border-line  between  sleep  and  wake- 
fulness.  I  hate  sleeping  in  the  daytime,  but  in  the  end 
I  gave  up  the  struggle,  stretched  my  legs  out  luxuriously 
on  the  seat  and  did  not  open  an  eye  for  hours. 

I  lay  blinking  at  the  roof  of  the  carriage,  for  a  long 
time  only  half-awake.  A  strange  disinclination  to 
move  chained  me  down,  but  with  an  effort  I  mastered 
it  and  sat  up,  dizzy  and  irritable.  My  throat  was 
parched  and  for  the  first  time  in  my  life  I  had  a  split- 
ting  headache.  I  must  have  caught  a  chill,  I  thought, 
for  I  was  shivering,  aching  in  every  bone,  completely 
unable  to  rally  my  wits.  Dusk  had  fallen;  the  car- 
riage was  in  semi-darkness.  A  moment  or  two  passed 
before  I  remembered  the  genial  cleric.  Then  I  peered 
into  the  farthest  corner  of  the  carriage.  It  was  empty! 
He  must  have  gone  out  at  some  station  without  awak- 
ening me.  Curious,  I  Reflected,  for  usually  I  am  a  sin- 
gularly light  sleeper.  My  flask  was  in  my  suit-case,  and 


THE  SEARCHERS  99 

feeling  the  need  of  something  to  pull  me  together,  I 
turned  to  the  corner  where  I  had  left  it,  when  a  sudden 
fear  lifted  me  to  my  feet.  One  swift  look  round  the 
carriage  showed  me  that  my  suit-case  was  nowhere  to 
be  seen !  It  had  been  lying  opposite  me  when  I  dozed 
off.  Of  that  I  was  ruefully  certain.  I  searched  the 
compartment,  but  it  was  not  there.  Then  I  dived  my 
hand  feverishly  into  my  inside  pocket.  The  pocket- 
book  had  vanished,  and  in  a  sickening  flash  I  realised 
that  I  had  been  "doped"  by  a  drugged  cigar;  that  the 
man  in  rusty  clerical  black  was  probably  no  more  a 
priest  than  I  was.  I  had  been  watched,  and  the  paper 
was  being  tracked  by  crafty  and  dangerous  men.  My 
skin  was  like  ice ! 

The  cryptic  paper!  I  tore  off  my  boot,  and  drew 
a  long  breath  of  relief.  It  was  safe.  Having  quickly 
replaced  it  I  had  just  time  to  button  my  boot  before 
the  lights  of  a  station  filed  past.  It  was  Civita  Vec- 
chia,  where  there  was  a  stop  of  a  few  minutes.  My 
head  was  still  throbbing,  and  feeling  very  limp,  I 
stepped  out  to  the  platform  for  some  much-needed 
fresh  air,  with  a  faint  hope  that  the  stout  figure  of  my 
fellow-traveller  might  be  espied  somewhere  in  the  train 
or  in  the  station.  Needless  to  say,  I  saw  nobody  with 
the  least  resemblance  to  him,  although  I  nearly  missed 
the  train  by  searching  too  long.  Alone  again  in  the 
compartment  I  thanked  my  stars  that  I  had  taken  the 
precaution  to  hide  the  paper  in  my  boot.  Either  the 
wily  old  scoundrel  had  been  in  a  hurry  or  he  was  no 
ordinary  Continental  train  thief,  for  my  watch  and 
sovereign-purse  and  some  money  had  not  been  touched. 

I  lodged  a  complaint  with  an  official  and  left  my 
name  and  address,  but  I  never  set  eyes  on  my  suit-case 
again.  Its  loss  was  more  than  balanced  by  the  knowl- 
edge that  the  rascal  had  not  laid  his  hands  on  the  pa- 


ioo  THE  SEARCHERS 

per,  but  I  realised  that  I  was  only  at  the  beginning 
of  a  dangerous  game,  and  I  kept  a  wary  eye  on  all 
comers. 

The  rest  of  the  journey,  however,  passed  without 
incident,  and  soon  I  heard  again  the  welcome  roar  of 
London.  From  my  hotel  I  rang  up  Tony's  address, 
and  found  that  he  had  not  returned.  Then  I  turned 
in,  dog-weary,  but  with  a  soothing  sense  of  "something 
attempted,  something  done,"  for  the  precious  paper 
was  under  my  pillow.  I  had  won  the  first  trick. 


CHAPTER  XV 

NEXT  morning  I  rang  up  Tony's  rooms  again,  and 
found,  to  my  relief,  that  a  telegram,  despatched  from 
Boulogne,  had  arrived  from  him.  It  gave  instructions 
that  I  should  be  asked  to  meet  him  on  his  arrival  by 
the  boat-train  at  Charing  Cross  in  the  afternoon.  I 
was  there  to  the  minute;  but  when  the  long  train  drew 
up,  although  I  searched  the  stream  of  passengers  ex- 
pectantly, there  was  no  sign  of  my  friend's  tall  figure. 
The  crowd  thinned  and,  much  disappointed,  I  had  re- 
luctantly turned  to  leave,  when  a  hand  was  laid  on  my 
arm.  I  wheeled  round  and  confronted  a  stooping,  spec- 
tacled, middle-aged  person,  with  a  ragged,  grizzled 
moustache  and  whiskers.  He  met  the  question  in  my 
eye  with  a  smile.  Then,  to  my  amazement,  he  seized 
my  hand  and  shook  it  warmly,  and  a  welcome  voice 
greeted  me  with,  "Looking  for  me,  aren't  you,  Neil?" 

"Tony!" 

"My  speech  bewrayeth  me.  Confess,  however,  that 
my  little  rig-out  took  you  in." 

"Until  you  spoke,  it  did,  completely." 

"Good!  I  am  gratified,  for  this  is  the  first  time  I 
have  used  it.  It  has  done  me  well  enough,  consider- 
ing its  simplicity.  It  was  most  useful  in  my  bolt  from 
Italy." 

"Your  bolt?" 

"Yes,  old  son.  I  fled  from  that  sunny  clime  without 
even  collecting  my  luggage.  Indeed,  my  departure 
was  so  informal  that  I  did  not  bid  good-bye  to  my 

101 


102  THE  SEARCHERS 

host,  Mr.  'Wakeford.'  A  keen-witted  knave!  His 
name  ought  to  be  'Wide-Awake-ford.'  ' 

I. knew  Tony.  His  whimsical  words  were  not  to 
be  taken  at  their  face  value,  and  I  thought  that,  under 
the  grey  eyebrows  of  his  disguise,  his  eyes  looked 
tired.  Something  had  happened. 

"You  have  the  paper?"  he  asked. 

"Safe  and  sound;  but  it  was  a  near  shave!" 

"Come  along  to  my  rooms,  and  after  I  get  a  tub 
and  a  change,  we'll  swop  experiences,"  said  he,  as  he 
led  the  way  with  careful,  elderly  step,  leaning  heavily 
on  his  umbrella-handle,  the  picture  of  a  rather  untidy, 
harmless-looking,  uninteresting  nondescript.  Nothing 
in  his  appearance  called  for  a  second  glance. 

At  his  rooms  he  ran  through  a  pile  of  letters  and 
some  telegrams  and  half-an-hour  afterwards  he  was 
himself  again,  clean-shaven  and  alert,  tingling  with 
vitality.  His  eyes,  the  light  of  adventure  in  them, 
lost  their  strained  look  as  he  held  forth  to  me  from 
the  hearth-rug,  his  back  to  a  comfortable  fire,  and  this 
is  the  gist  of  his  adventure. 

After  he  left  me  at  Ubriano  with  the  paper  in  my 
keeping,  he  laid  himself  out  to  make  "Wakeford's" 
acquaintance.  In  the  light  of  what  happened,  he  was 
convinced  that  "Wakeford"  was  on  the  same  game. 
The  launch  lay  alongside  the  landing-stage  and  Tony 
dawdled  about  in  the  sun,  keeping  a  wary  eye  around 
him.  He  had  not  long  to  wait  before  his  man  ap- 
peared— handsome,  lithe,  black-avised.  "Reminded 
one,  somehow,  of  a  panther,"  was  Tony's  comment. 
He  gave  Tony  a  polite  "Good-morning,"  and  the  two 
interchanged  common-places  about  the  beauty  of  the 
bay.  "Wakeford"  spoke  perfect  English,  and  seemed 
pleased  to  meet  a  fellow-countryman. 

They  chatted  for  some  time,  and  a  chance  remark 


THE  SEARCHERS  103 

by  Tony  in  admiration  of  the  launch  prompted  the  ap- 
parently hospitable  "Wakeford"  to  invite  his  new  ac- 
quaintance to  an  hour's  sail  on  the  blue  waters  of  the 
bay. 

"I  felt  I  was  getting  along  all  right,"  Tony  con- 
tinued. "There  was  just  a  chance  that  he  might  show 
his  hand,  so  I  went  on  board  the  launch  and  had  a  pleas- 
ant hour.  I  made  myself  agreeable,  and  he  asked  me 
to  luncheon.  I  introduced  myself  as  Mr.  John  Rob- 
inson of  London,  enjoying  a  short  holiday  in  Italy  for 
the  first  time,  and  in  this  role  posed  as  grateful  for 
his  attention,  and  accepted  the  invitation. 

"As  you  know,  Neil,  I  am  not  given  to  rhapsodising, 
but  the  Villa  dei  Cipressi  is  a  dream,  a  delight,  a  fairy 
phantasy  in  colour  and  setting.  I  can  give  honest 
praise  to  everything  about  it — except  its  blackguardly 
inmates.  Imagine  an  ascent  from  the  beach  by  hidden 
winding  pathways  to  a  magnificent  garden  in  three  ter- 
races, all  around  the  music  of  innumerable  cascades 
glittering  in  the  sunlight,  leaping  and  dancing  down 
to  a  great  marble  reservoir,  out  of  which  they  take 
their  final  plunge  into  blue  depths  below.  As  for  the 
garden  itself,  the  only  attempt  at  formality  was  a 
splendid  avenue  of  cypresses — hence  the  villa's  name. 
The  rest  of  the  garden  had  the  effect  of  a  lovely  wil- 
derness. Its  want  of  formality  was  studied,  no  doubt, 
but  the  result  was  a  wealth  of  colour  beyond  descrip- 
tion— cyclamen,  narcissus,  iris,  violets,  roses;  its  poly- 
chrome in  the  mass  in  vivid  contrast  to  the  sombre 
flames  of  the  cypresses.  The  Villa  dei  Cipressi, 
'Wakeford'  told  me,  is  one  of  Vignola's  creations.  It 
is  on  the  crest  of  the  cliff,  and  commands  one  of  the 
fairest  views  in  the  world." 

"  'Where  every  prospect  pleases,'  "  I  murmured. 

"Yes.     I'll  come  to  where  'man  is  vile'  in  a  minute. 


104  THE  SEARCHERS 

The  villa  is  built  round  a  turf  court,  relieved  by  the 
silver  spray  of  a  fountain.  A  wide  loggia  runs  round 
the  first  storey,  and  below  it  a  veranda — an  ideal  spot 
for  a  lotus-eater;  but  I  shouldn't  call  'Wakeford'  and 
Co.  lotus-eaters.  Both  loggia  and  veranda  are  dec- 
orated in  Pompeian  red  by  one  of  the  Zuccari,  and  the 
whole  effect  of  the  frescoes  against  the  jade  green  of 
the  cypresses  is  entrancing.  'Wakeford'  must  have 
plenty  of  money  or  the  command  of  it.  Looking  at 
his  luxurious  menage,  I  recalled  the  boatman's  descrip- 
tion of  him,  'Plenty  of  money  and  with  the  hands  per- 
forated.' He  has  at  least  one  virtue.  He  is  an  ac- 
complished gastronome.  The  colazione  was  as  artis- 
tic as  the  villa,  and  as  characteristically  Italian.  Al- 
though there  was  a  bewildering  choice,  there  was  no 
suggestion  of  Midas'  profusion.  After  the  spaghetti 
we  had  king  prawns,  then  alodolli  stuffed  with  mush- 
rooms, and  some  excellent  Lachrima  Christi.  Be- 
tween'truffles  and  a  capretto  I  chose  the  latter,  with 
it  a  salad  to  the  accompaniment  of  foaming  Asti;  after 
that  a  delicious  flip  of  eggs,  cream  and  wine  (I  forget 
its  name)  ;  a  libation  of  Vino  Santo;  then  a  sheep's- 
milk  fresh  cheese;  and  we  finished  with  figs,  strawber- 
ries, and  peaches.  The  salad  is  a  precious  memory. 
Never  again  for  me  the  British  abominations  of  sugar 
and  hard-boiled  eggs — nothing  but  fresh  olive-oil  and 
a  little  vinegar,  and  the  bowl  with  a  touch — just  a  hint, 
a  suspicion — of  a  clove  of  garlic.  I  got  the  recette 
for  this.  It  is  the  only  thing  I  carried  away  from  the 
villa,  except  a  motor-car  and  an  exciting  experience ! 
"We  were  waited  upon  by  a  very  big  and  broad 
Italian,  clad  in  the  subfusc  of  the  orthodox  English 
butler,  who  moved  about  with  the  precision  and  silence 
of  a  well-oiled  machine.  Mark  this  man,  Neil.  'Wake- 
ford'  addressed  him  in  Italian  (of  which  I  have  only 


THE  SEARCHERS  105 

a  working  knowledge),  calling  him  'Benedetto.'  At 
first  he  seemed  to  me  to  be  the  acme  of  respectability. 
He  might  have  sat  for  a  portrait  of  an  archdeacon. 
Stamped  all  over  him,  from  his  bald  dome  to  his  toes, 
was  'Behold  one  who  has  deigned  to  serve  only  in  the 
"best  families."  But  I  was  leaving  nothing  to  chance 
and  while  I  kept  up  a  flow  of  small-talk,  I  took  a 
mental  photograph  of  his  little  black  eyes,  his  blue 
shaven  chin,  his  great  creased  face,  his  long,  thin 
mouth,  with  its  perpetual  shadow  of  a  grin  at  the  cor- 
ners, and  his  large,  hairy  hands Why,  what's  the 

matter  with  you?" 

I  had  jumped  excitedly  to  my  feet.  "I  think,  Tony," 
I  said,  "that  I  know  this  capable  butler.  I  can  give 
him  a  certificate  at  least  for  versatility.  I  have  met 
him." 

"The  devil  you  have !  Where  on  earth  did  you  run 
across  him?" 

"He  tracked  me  in  Naples,  and  did  me  the  honour 
of  travelling  for  an  hour  or  two  with  me.  But  go  on. 
I'll  tell  you  my  yarn  afterwards." 

"  'Arcades  ambo.'  Otherwise,  a  pair  of  beauties ! 
I'll  hurry  through  my  yarn  and  get  yours.  To  go 
back  to  the  luncheon.  My  host  was  wary,  and  did 
not  refer  to  Hugh  Forbes,  except  in  the  most  off-hand, 
casual  manner,  when  we  were  half-way  through  the 
meal.  (By  the  way,  he  plied  the  wine  freely.  I  didn't 
object.  If  he  meant  to  loosen  my  tongue,  I  thought 
I  might  risk  drinking  level  with  him.)  He  believed, 
he  said,  that  there  was  an  Englishman  in  the  village 
who  was  very  seriously  ill,  and  that  he  had  no  rela- 
tives. He  had  two  or  three  times  thought  of  calling, 
but  he  felt  diffident  about  it,  and  put  it  off.  Probably 
it  was  now  too  late.  'Liar,'  I  thought,  but  as  I  mur- 
mured something  polite  and  conventional,  I  felt  sure 


io6  THE  SEARCHERS 

that  he  was  watching  me  for  all  he  was  worth.  I  said 
nothing  about  Hugh  Forbes's  death,  and  waited  for 
'WakefordY  next  move.  However,  he  changed  the 
subject,  and  asked  me  if  there  were  many  people  at 
the  inn.  Very  few,  I  told  him.  No  one  whom  I  knew 
except  a  Mr.  Ford  or  Forbes.  That  was  you,  of 
course.  I  said  that  I  wasn't  very  sure  if  I  had  got 
hold  of  the  right  name,  and  that  I  had  met  you  by 
accident  in  the  train.  The  ingenuous  'Wakeford'  re- 
marked sympathetically  that  he  thought  Forbes  was 
the  name  of  the  poor  man  who  was  ill,  and  that  per- 
haps the  gentleman  at  the  inn  was  a  relative.  I  told 
him  that  I  had  no  idea,  but  that  I  might  ask  you,  if  I 
saw  you  again.  Just  then  I  happened  to  look  up,  and 
intercepted  a  glance  from  'Wakeford'  to  Benedetto. 
A  spark  of  steel  in  my  host's  dark  eye  shone  for  an 
instant  and  vanished,  but  the  servant's  big  face  was 
a  picture  of  stolid  immobility  as  he  busied  himself 
noiselessly  at  the  sideboard.  The  incident  was  trivial- 
looking,  but  an  indefinable  sixth  sense  told  me  that  a 
signal  had  passed,  and  the  knowledge  of  it  rang  in 
my  skull  like  an  alarm  clock.  However,  I  kept  a  tight 
grip  on  myself,  and  I  don't  think  my  face  betrayed 
me.  'Wakeford'  sheered  off  the  subject  and  turned 
the  conversation  to  a  score  of  other  matters,  talking 
very  well  on  art,  letters,  current  politics,  and  so  forth. 
"After  luncheon  he  led  the  way  to  the  veranda 
where  he  crowned  his  excellent  entertainment  with 
cigars  and  certosa  verde.  Very  soon  I  heard  the  hum 
of  a  motor-car  somewhere  near.  It  stopped — quite 
close  to  the  house,  it  seemed  to  me — and  in  a  few  min- 
utes a  servant — not  the  sleek  Benedetto — presented 
himself,  and  said,  'Una  persona  miole  vederla,  signore' 
('One  wishes  to  see  you,  sir').  'Wakeford'  rose  with 
an  impatient  gesture,  apologised  to  me  for  leaving, 


THE  SEARCHERS  107 

and  on  my  suggestion  that  the  length  of  my  visit  might 
be  inconvenient  to  him,  assured  me  that  his  business 
would  not  detain  him  longer  than  a  few  minutes.  Off 
he  went  into  the  house  and  I  seized  the  opportunity 
to  scribble  a  note  to  you,  telling  you  to  go  on  and  not 
to  wait  for  me  if  I  didn't  turn  up  at  Naples.  Then  I 
stepped  out  to  the  terrace  and  sauntered  among  the 
flowers,  until  I  got  close  to  the  gate.  There  was  a  big 
motor-car  waiting,  with  no  one  in  charge,  but  by  good 
luck  I  got  a  ragged  village  urchin  to  deliver  the  note 
to  you  at  the  inn.  This  done,  I  strolled  leisurely  back 
until  I  found  myself  about  a  hundred  yards  down  the 
slope  from  the  front  of  the  house,  beside  a  cluster  of 
myrtles,  flanked  by  a  stone  parapet,  below  which  was 
a  steep,  winding  path  down  the  cliffs  to  the  sea.  While 
there  I  heard  the  sound  of  voices.  They  came  from 
below  me  and  I  looked  cautiously  over  the  parapet. 
Two  men  were  standing  a  few  yards  away.  Luckily 
their  backs  were  to  me.  I  drew  back  into  the  myrtle 
clump,  for  in  that  swift  moment  I  had  recognised  my 
host  and  the  huge  Benedetto.  'WakefordY  hand  was 
on  the  other  man's  shoulder.  One  thing  was  clear. 
Their  relationship  was  not  that  of  master  and  serv- 
ant. The  voices  went  on,  subdued  and  earnest,  until 
suddenly  my  senses  were  strung  taut.  I  heard  my  own 
name.  As  I  told  you,  I  have  only  a  working  knowl- 
edge of  Italian,  but  what  I  heard  was  certainly  'Wake- 
ford's'  eager  voice  asking,  'Have  you  any  doubt?'  and 
the  other  man's  reply  in  a  booming  bass,  'Scarcely  a 
shadow.  It  is  a  hundred  to  one  that  he  is  Keene- 
Leslie.' 

"Then  'Wakeford'  rapped  out,  'Lo  pigli  un  acci- 
dente!  If  he  resists' 

"I  did  a  little  rapid  thinking,  for  they  had  turned, 
and  were  coming  up  the  slope  into  the  garden.  I  hid 


io8  THE  SEARCHERS 

among  the  myrtles,  and  watched  them  walk  hurriedly 
past  towards  the  house,  mount  the  steps,  and  dis- 
appear. 

"What  was  to  happen  if  I  resisted  I  didn't  wait  to 
find  out.  On  the  contrary,  I  did  a  record  sprint  to- 
wards the  gate.  I  don't  think  I  ever  'got  a  move  on' 
more  whole-heartedly !  The  car  was  still  there.  There 
was  no  one  in  sight.  I  ran  my  eye  over  the  big,  pow- 
erful Fiat,  and  made  up  my  mind  on  the  spot  to  com- 
mandeer it,  calculating  that  I  might  get  a  minute  or 
two  of  a  start  before  they  found  out  that  I  had  cleared. 
They  would  see  my  hat  in  the  hall  and  this  might  help 
to  throw  them  off  the  scent  for  a  few  moments.  Still, 
it  was  going  to  be  a  near  thing.  I  switched  on  the 
current,  gave  the  handle  a  couple  of  turns,  jumped  in, 
and  rammed  the  lever.  The  car  got  under  way,  its 
head  facing  away  from  the  village.  However,  I  dared 
not  risk  losing  time  by  turning  it,  and  as  there  was  a 
rise  for  a- hundred  yards  or  so  in  front,  I  don't  mind 
telling  you  that  I  sweated  with  anxiety,  for  the  road  was 
flanked  by  the  grounds,  and  I  had  to  pass  in  full  view 
of  the  windows  of  the  house.  Near  the  top  I  heard  a 
shout,  and  next  moment  Benedetto  rushed  out  from 
a  side-gate,  wrath  and  apprehension  in  his  face,  his 
arms  wide  open,  his  hands  clawing  the  air,  menacing 
me,  and  all  the  time  his  great  voice  bellowing,  'Help ! 
Help!' 

"He  was  about  six  yards  away,  right  in  front,  and 
I  went  straight  at  him.  He  dodged  with  a  nimbleness 
astounding  in  a  man  of  his  bulk  and  years.  I  thought 
I  had  bested  him,  but  the  car  hadn't  enough  way  on, 
and  he  contrived  to  clutch  it  and  swing  himself  on  to 
the  step.  When  he  was  half-turned  to  me,  trying  to 
steady  himself,  I  stood  up  and  let  drive  for  all  I  knew 
with  my  heel  on  his  ribs.  He  gasped  and  wavered. 


THE  SEARCHERS  109 

I  let  him  have  another.  It  knocked  the  wind  out  of 
him.  He  fell  and  rolled  over  twice  in  the  dust  like  a 
shot  rabbit.  The  car  was  swaying  too  much  for  safety, 
but  I  managed  to  steady  it,  and  a  glance  back  showed 
me  the  old  villain  picking  himself  up.  I  regret  to  say 
that  none  of  his  bones  appeared  to  have  been  broken. 
But  when  turning  round  I  caught  with  the  tail  of  my 
eye  a  movement — a  dark  momentary  flicker  high  up 
against  the  white  of  the  Villa  dei  Cipressi.  Instinc- 
tively, I  ducked,  half-a-second  before  the  crack  of  a 
revolver,  and  the  wind-screen  of  the  car  was  shivered 
by  the  bullet  in  a  line  with  where  my  head  by  rights 
should  have  been.  I  kept  down,  you  bet;  and  'Wake- 
ford' — for,  of  course,  it  was  he — fired  again,  but  by 
this  time  the  car  had  crested  the  rise  and  leaped  for- 
ward. I  took  every  ounce  out  of  her,  and  in  ten  min- 
utes I  think  I  must  have  covered  as  many  miles,  mostly 
downhill. 

"Luckily,  there  were  few  people  on  the  road.  One 
or  two  groups  of  peasants  split  into  two,  staring  open- 
mouthed  as  I  shot  past  like  a  driven  grouse.  A  cart 
forced  me  to  slow  down,  and  a  herd  of  goats  at  a 
nasty  corner  had  a  narrow  escape  from  being  made 
minced  meat  of;  but  I  was  lucky,  and  every  minute 
gave  me  confidence.  I  hadn't  the  remotest  notion 
where  I  was  going,  except  that  I  was  putting  the  leagues 
between  me  and  the  Villa.  A  small  town  checked  my 
rush,  but  once  I  was  past  it,  there  was  a  long  stretch  of 
straight  road.  I  let  her  out  again. 

"Then  came  an  exhilarating  run.  The  knowledge 
that  I  had  a  good  sporting  chance  of  winning  got  into 
my  blood.  The  car  behaved  magnificently.  I  take 
off  my  hat  to  the  makers.  The  ground  whizzed  from 
beneath  me;  the  houses  were  mere  flying  blurs  of  red 
and  white.  After  half-an-hour  I  steadied  down  to  a' 


no  THE  SEARCHERS 

good  ding-dong  forty  miles  an  hour,  keeping  to  the 
main  road  for  the  sake  of  speed  and  at  last,  hatless, 
dusty,  parched,  but  with  a  hundred  miles  between  me 
and  the  Villa  of  the  Cypresses  I  slowed  down  and 
began  to  take  my  bearings. 


CHAPTER  XVI 

"FROM  a  wine-cart  driver,"  continued  Tony,  "I 
learned  that  I  was  near  the  town  of  Eboli.  The  car 
was  now  an  incubus.  Its  presence  would  make  the  very 
stones  prate  of  my  whereabouts,  so  I  decided  to  lose 
it.  I  turned  off  the  main  road,  and  left  it  at  the  side 
of  a  little-used  track  in  a  big  wood  some  miles  out  of 
th~e  town.  Then,  still  keeping  off  the  main  road,  I 
'hoofed'  it  to  Eboli.  There  I  bought  a  hat  and  a  cheap 
overcoat,  and  into  the  town  I  sauntered,  but  with  my 
eyes  open,  you  bet,  for  the  villa  gentry.  My  dodge 
was  to  double  back  to  Naples  by  train  at  once,  but  I 
found  that  there  was  no  train  that  night.  There  was 
nothing  for  it  but  to  'lie  low,'  so  I  went  to  the  Albergo 
del  Vozzo,  and  stayed  the  night.  Nothing  happened. 
Next  morning  I  boarded  the  train  and  was  in  Naples 
in  a  couple  of  hours. 

"I  knew  that  you  could  not  have  arrived,  owing  to 
your  uncle's  funeral,  and  when  waiting  I  had  a  talk 
with  the  Chief  of  Police.  He  was  much  interested  in 
my  yarn,  for  the  villa  had  been  more  or  less  under 
observation.  If  the  inmates  were  not  'wanted,'  they 
were  at  least  suspected  of  being  members  of  a  clever 
international  gang  of  rogues,  so  he  told  me.  He  was 
puzzled  about  their  selecting  Ubriano  as  a  base,  until 
I  gave  him  an  outline  of  the  story  of  the  paper  in 
Hugh  Forbes's  possession.  He  set  things  going 
promptly  and  inside  an  hour  had  news  for  me.  The 
occupants  of  the  villa  had  evidently  got  a  scare.  It 
looks  as  though  Benedetto  had  come  across  my  name 

in 


ii2  THE  SEARCHERS 

in  his  precious  career,  for  the  house  was  empty!  It 
was  probable,  the  Chief  told  me,  that  they  would 
make  for  England.  He  promised  to  keep  a  watch 
on  the  Messageries  and  other  lines,  and  advised  me 
on  no  account  to  join  you;  so  I  rigged  myself  out  as 
the  elderly  nonentity  you  saw,  and  came  home  by  a 
later  train  than  yours.  Just  as  well  that  I  disguised 
myself,  for,  when  we  were  nearing  Folkestone,  I'm 
hanged  if  'Wakeford'  didn't  make  his  appearance  on 
deck!  He  was  at  the  same  game  as  myself;  he  had 
discarded  his  dark-pointed  beard  and  was  clean- 
shaven. He  scarcely  moved  from  the  seat  he  had 
chosen,  and  I'll  swear  that  his  attitude  was  more  of  the 
hunted  than  of  the  hunter.  I  am  dead  certain  that  he 
never  suspected  that  the  footling  spectacled  old  non- 
descript was  the  man  who  had  bolted  with  his  motor- 
car, and  whom  he  had  tried  to  plug  with  a  revolver. 
I  determined  to  keep  an  eye  on  him,  and  to  'phone  to 
London  from  Folkestone,  as  Scotland  Yard  might  iden- 
tify him;  but  at  Folkestone  he  disappeared.  I've  only 
myself  to  blame.  I  went  below  for  a  minute,  and  never 
saw  him  again.  He  probably  had  slipped  out  from 
the  crowd  to  avoid  the  boat-train.  At  all  events,  he 
wasn't  in  it  when  it  started  and  he  didn't  leave  it  at 
Charing  Cross.  .  .  .  So  here  I  am!  And  now  let  me 
have  your  'hair-breadth  'scape,'  for  I  have  a  telegram 
from  my  chief,  and  must  tear  off  to  meet  him  at  once.'* 

I  ran  through  my  adventure  in  the  train  with  the 
country  priest,  and  we  agreed  that  there  could  be  little 
doubt  that  he  and  the  big  "butler"  were  one  and  the 
same  man. 

"Cool  customers!  They  cut  their  losses  and  waste 
no  time  in  the  process.  Benedetto  slips  into  clerical 
garb,  'dopes'  you,  and  gets  away  with  the  suit-case." 

"Much  good  it  will  do  him!" 


THE  SEARCHERS  113 

"True,  but  he  is  a  'live  wire.'  He'll  join  the  other 
scoundrel  here  and  you'll  meet  'em  both  again,  or  I'm 
much  mistaken.  I  wonder  what  their  next  move  will 
be !  I  suppose  you  go  North  to-night.  Au  Voir,  then. 
Let  me  know  if  anything  happens,  Neil,"  were  his 
parting  words. 

Off  I  went.  I  got  the  night  train  for  the  North 
and  next  morning  breakfasted  in  the  peace  of  my  rooms 
in  Auld  Reekie. 

Among  my  letters  at  Jura  Street  was  one  from  my 
uncle  telling  me  that  the  copy  of  the  paper  coincided 
exactly  in  shape  and  size  with  the  faded  document  at 
The  Bield.  It  was  clear  that  the  two  had  been  twin 
documents;  that  the  one  at  The  Bield  had  become  il- 
legible through  damp  and  age,  while  my  Uncle  Hugh's 
copy  had  stood  the  test  of  time.  Moreover,  in  the 
paper  in  the  colonel's  possession,  the  only  two  recog- 
nisable words,  "Exultabunt  Domino''  were  in  precisely 
the  same  place  as  in  the  copy  and  even  the  little  Roman 
cross  preceding  them  was  there.  There  had  been  no 
developments  at  The  Bield  and  no  signs  of  any  prowl- 
er, although  my  uncle  and  Angus  had  watched  care- 
fully. The  tone  of  the  letter  was  that  of  a  man  in 
good  spirits,  and  the  writing  was  in  his  usual  clear,  firm 
hand. 

Dr.  Hall  also  had  written.  His  note  told  me  that 
he  had  informed  the  police  about  the  old  Italian  with 
the  melodeon.  A  man  somewhat  answering  the  de- 
scription had  been  found  in  Morayshire,  but  it  ap- 
peared that  he  was  a  well-known  itinerant — a  bit  of  a 
"character" — and  he  was  able  to  prove  that  he  had 
not  been  out  of  Morayshire  for  six  weeks.  The  colo- 
nel was  well,  and  the  doctor  hoped  that  there  would  be 
no  more  developments  in  the  affair,  as  excitement  was 
most  undesirable  for  him. 


ii4  THE  SEARCHERS 

Two  facts  stood  out  clearly  in  the  queer  business. 
We  were  in  possession  of  one  part  of  a  mysterious 
document  which  was  being  hunted  by  men  who  had 
money,  brains,  and  diabolical  resource.  The  other 
part,  which  I  had  seen  in  the  bogus  cigarette  on  the 
night  of  the  fog,  had  fallen  (Heaven  knows  at  what 
cost  to  others!)  into  these  men's  hands.  Unless  an  ex- 
traordinary stroke  of  fortune  fell  to  us,  the  next  move 
in  the  game  was  bound  to  come  from  the  gang;  but  I 
wasted  no  time  pondering  the  affair,  for  my  own  situ- 
ation gave  me  more  than  enough  to  think  about. 

A  March  of  foul  weather  wore  on  until  a  few  days 
before  the  rising  of  the  Court  for  the  Spring  Vacation. 
Not  that  the  rising  of  His  Majesty's  Judges  (as  I 
reflected  ruefully)  affected  me  in  the  least,  except  that 
it  would  be  an  escape  from  the  attentions  of  my  clerk, 
a  persistently  hopeful  creature,  who  daily  during  Ses- 
sion approached  me,  his  optimistic  eye  charged  with 
the  cheerful  expectancy  that  a  brief  had  arrived  on  the 
previous  evening.  I  almost  envied  the  briefless  one — 
his  name  is  now  a  beloved  one  in  letters — whose  clerk 
left  him  so  severely  alone  that  his  lineaments  faded 
from  his  master's  memory.  Never  a  guinea's  worth 
of  work  came  my  way.  The  thought  shadowed  me. 
It  grudged  me  sleep,  waited  at  table,  strode  beside  me 
up  the  Mound  and  down  again,  took  my  arm  in  the 
Parliament  House,  stuck  to  me  like  a  poisonous  physical 
presence  and  familiarity  with  it  never  bred  contempt. 

I  think  I  have  mentioned  that  I  had  written  a  little 
for  the  newspapers  and  an  occasional  magazine  article. 
It  had  only  been  a  little.  A  conspiracy  of  heartless 
editors  refused  to  have  more.  It  is  an  ill  business  try- 
ing to  turn  an  honest  shilling  with  Black  Care  at  one's 
elbow,  but  I  had  "buckled  to"  an  article  for  a  weekly 
newspaper.  The  rate  of  pay  compared  favourably 


THE  SEARCHERS  115 

with  a  healthy  navvy's,  but  it  was  better  than  nothing. 
Its  title,  of  all  things,  was,  "The  Enervating  Effect 
of  Wealth,"  and  it  professed  to  deal  with  the  dangers 
of  Philistinism  and  divorce  from  ideals  in  the  nation 
and  the  individual.  I  wrote  it,  tongue  in  cheek,  and  read 
it  over  with  a  peevish  contempt  for  myself.  I  had  al- 
most made  up  my  mind  to  save  my  self-respect  by  tear- 
ing the  depressing  thing  to  pieces,  when  the  diminutive 
"slavey"  heralded  the  entrance  to  my  room  of  Mr. 
Archibald  Jardine,  one  of  my  colleagues  of  the  Junior 
Bar.  I  was  glad  to  see  him,  for  I  was  in  the  blackest 
of  humours  with  myself,  and  Jardine  was  an  old  friend 
and  a  good  fellow.  He  was  the  laziest  man  in  the 
Parliament  House,  except  one  of  the  judges,  but  he  was 
a  sound  lawyer,  and  his  alertness,  his  clear-headedness 
and  his  personal  charm  had  served  him  well.  He  was 
gathering  a  good  practice,  as  he  put  it,  "in  spite  of  him- 
self." 

"How  goes  it,  Tatcho?"  I  greeted  him.  (He  was 
nearly  as  bald  as  a  coot,  hence  the  sobriquet.) 

"Fair  to  showery.    Are  you  busy?" 

I  was  able  to  reassure  him  on  this  point  and  he 
settled  himself  in  an  arm-chair  with  his  pipe. 

"What's  that  thing?"  he  asked,  pointing  to  the  MS. 
"I  couldn't  help  seeing  it.  If  the  rest  of  it  is  as 
piffling  as  the  title,  it  must  be  pretty  awful.  What 
is  it,  anyhow?" 

I  explained. 

"It  seems  a  very  moderate  form  of  amusement." 

"Indeed  it  is." 

"Didn't  know  you  were  an  author !" 

"Neither  I  am.  I'm  a  helot,  a  hack,  a  plagiarist,  a 
whited  sepulchre!" 

"So?  That's  a  fairly  progressive  indictment.  Do 
you  like  doing  it?" 


n6  THE  SEARCHERS 

"No." 

"Why  do  it?" 

I  told  him  that  my  object  was  to  improve  my  hand- 
writing. 

He  smoked  in  meditative  silence  for  a  little.  "I 
came  to  consult  you,  Neil,  about  the  Spring  Vacation. 
Have  you  any  plans?" 

"I  am  unable  to  decide,"  I  replied.  "Torn  as  I  am 
between  the  competing  fascinations  of  my  private  golf- 
course,  my  forty-horse  power  Rolls-Royce,  and  my 
nine-hundred-ton  steam  yacht " 

"Just  so,"  he  cut  in.  "Dammitman,  none  of  your 
moss-grown  jests  weighs  less  than  a  ton.  Hand  me 
out  no  more.  I'm  in  a  hurry.  Tell  me,  I  pray  you, 
where  are  you  going  in  the  Vacation?" 

"I  don't  know." 

"All  is  well !  You  are  the  man  I  want.  To  business. 
I  have  taken  my  old  stretch  of  the  Deveron.  You  re- 
member?" 

"Rather!"  The  man  who  could  forget  that  lovable 
corner  and  its  green  garden  by  the  bridge  on  Deveron- 
side  does  not  deserve  a  holiday.  "What  are  you  get- 
ting at?" 

"The  river  won't  see  me  this  spring,  Neil,  and  I 
want  you  to  take  my  place.  The  fishing  is  divine.  The 
air  is  champagne.  You  will  go?" 

"It's  good  of  you,  Tatcho !  I  am  tempted,  but  it's 
out  of  the  question  just  now.  At  any  other  time  I 
should  be  delighted,  but "  I  shook  my  head. 

"Why?" 

"Res  angusta!" 

"It  isn't  a  question  of  affording  it,  man.  You  and 
your  friends  can  have  the  run  of  the  lodge  for  a 
month.  I  hate  the  thought  of  the  fishing  being 
wasted." 


THE  SEARCHERS  117 

What  he  meant  was  that  he  loved  to  see  his  friends 
enjoying  themselves.  True,  he  was  a  rich  man;  but 
your  rich  man  is  not  invariably  a  thoughtful  one.  I 
hesitated  for  a  moment.  Faint,  far  off,  sounded  the 
music  of  a  salmon-reel.  Ah!  Did  the  maiden  of  the 
"Lorelei"  ever  sing  a  sweeter  lure?  With  a  sigh  I 
wrenched  myself  from  the  spell,  for  I  knew  that,  even 
with  the  utmost  care,  my  resources  would  be  down 
to  about  a  five-pound  note  by  the  end  of  the  Vacation. 
The  dream  of  the  Deveron  vanished. 

"No,  my  friend.  Lord  knows  I'm  sorry,  but  it  can't 
be  done." 

"I  am  disappointed.  Look  here,  Neil,"  said  the 
good  Tatcho,  fixing  me  with  a  gimlet  eye;  "is  there 
any  relationship  between  your  refusal  and  your  writ- 
ing"— he  nodded  towards  the  offending  manuscript — 
"that  sort  of  tosh?" 

"Yes.  They  are  both  by  Stone-Broke  out  of  Little 
Flutter.  Now  you  know.  Get  thee  behind  me, 
Tatcho!  Why  can't  you  whip  the  beloved  stream 
yourself?" 

"I  am  going  to  work." 

"I  beg  your  pardon?" 

"You  heard  me  well  enough.  I — am — going — to — 
work." 

"Wait  a  moment.  The  notion  of  your  working  in 
Vacation  takes  some  time  to  trickle  in." 

"Why  shouldn't  I?" 

"Why  not,  indeed?  Absence  of  occupation  is  not 
rest;  a  mind  quite  vacant " 

"Is  a  mind  quite  blest!"  he  interrupted.  "But  mine 
won't  be  blest  in  the  coming  Vacation,  for  I  hate 
work.  My  job  ought  to  have  been  pulling  blooms  off 
century  plants!  However,  if  I  do  as  little  as  I  can 


ii 8  THE  SEARCHERS 

during  the  Session,  why  the  devil  shouldn't  I  work  as 
much  as  I  like  in  Vacation?" 

"Again,  why  not?    But  what  sort  of  work?" 

"My  trade.  Smith-Drummond  is  my  senior  in  a 
thundering  big  case,  one  of  the  regrettably  rare,  al- 
most extinct  specimens  of  the  go-ahead-spare-no-ex- 
pense-every-iron-in-the-fire  type.  The  papers  make  a 
bundle  three  feet  high  already.  It  may  come  off  sooner 
than  we  expect,  and  as  Smith-Drummond  is  up  to  his 
neck  in  other  work,  the  idea  of  the  solicitors  is  that  in 
Vacation  I'm  to  go  to  London,  where  the  headquarters 
of  the  clients  and  their  English  lawyers  are,  and 
straighten  out  a  lot  of  the  preliminaries." 

He  was  in  the  middle  of  unloading  on  me  a  lot  of 
technical  details,  when  he  pulled  up  suddenly  and  gave 
the  arm  of  his  chair  a  lusty  slap. 

"By  Jove !  Neil !  Will  you  come  to  London  with 
me  and  give  me  a  hand?  Technically,  of  course,  you 
won't  be  in  the  case,  but  I  have  my  work  cut  out  for 
me,  and  you'll  save  me  no  end  of  worry." 

"'Devil'  for  you?" 

"Devil,  clerk,  secretary,  label  yourself  what  you  like. 
Think  it  over.  It  will  be  spadework,  but  I  am  not 
asking  you  to  sweat  for  nothing.  You'll  be  worth 
your  modest  pay,  and  I  can  employ  whom  I  dam'-well 
choose  as  my  private  secretary.  We'll  be  three  weeks 
at  the  grindstone  in  London,  and  with  little  time  for 
the  village  festivals;  but  you'll  be  at  your  job,  and 
doing  yourself  a  good  turn  as  well  as  me.  My  papers 
get  into  a  hopeless  muddle.  Just  now  my  room  is 
knee-deep  in  misplaced  documents.  I  have  a  genuine 
gift  for  putting  things  in  their  proper  places  and  for- 
getting where  they  are.  I  could  lose  a  big  drum  in  a 
telephone-cabinet!  But  I  must  go  now.  I'll  give  you 
a  couple  of  days  to  think  it  over." 


THE  SEARCHERS  119 

A  couple  of  days !  Ten  seconds  of  time  sufficed  for 
my  decision. 

"Thank  you,  Jardine.  It's  awfully  decent  of  you," 
I  said.  "I'm  your  man." 

"Not  yet,  but  you  will  be  for  eight  hours  a  day  in 
London  on  and  after  the  ist  of  April  next." 

We  shook  hands  on  it. 

"I  sha'n't  forget  your " 

"Oh,  that's  all  right,"  he  choked  me  off  hurriedly. 
"It's  an  ordinary  affair  of  business.  I'll  send  you 
some  of  the  papers  to-morrow  morning.  So  long!" 

He  took  his  departure,  leaving  me  with  a  lighter 
heart  than  I  had  known  for  months. 

The  precious  thesis  on  the  canker  of  wealth  caught 
my  eye.  I  jammed  it  triumphantly  into  the  heart  of 
the  fire. 

The  beginning  of  April  saw  me  back  in  London. 


CHAPTER  XVII 

CONTRAST,  some  one  has  said,  is  the  magnifying- 
glass  of  the  senses. 

My  three  weeks  in  London  were  as  an  oasis  in  an 
uncharted  waste.  The  Jura  Street  days  of  enforced 
idleness  or  hateful  hack-writing  were  succeeded  by  the 
blessed  tonic  of  congenial  work,  the  anodyne  of  routine 
by  full  and  keen  hours.  Fresh  environment,  fresh  ac- 
quaintances, fresh  sights  and  sounds  animated  and 
braced  me.  I  worked  with  gusto,  slept  soundly,  and 
woke  refreshed,  the  hum  of  the  early  traffic  in  the 
April  sunshine  cheering  me  like  a  song.  Keene-Leslie 
was  busy,  and  sometimes  out  of  town,  but  Jardine  and 
I  often  dined  together.  The  days  slipped  past  too 
quickly. 

April  proved  kind.  The  air  was  crisp  and  exhilarat- 
ing, and  if  occasional  wilful  bursts  .of  rain  thwarted 
the  sunshine,  they  did  ample  penance  by  freshening  the 
streets  and  stirring  the  sap  of  the  young  greenery  in 
the  parks,  when  the  crocuses  held  up  their  pretty  heads 
to  welcome  the  spring.  Bits  of  gay  colour  were  invad- 
ing the  streets,  and  all  Londoners  who  could  find  the 
time  were  out-of-doors.  After  my  day's  work,  by  way 
of  exercise  and  recreation,  I  often  filled  in  a  couple  of 
hours  before  dinner  wandering  about  in  the  great 
fascinating  hive.  Sometimes  Jardine  or  Tony  accom- 
panied me,  but  as  often  as  not  I  was  alone,  free  to  go 
my  own  way,  to  stroll  or  hurry  as  I  felt  inclined,  to 
dine  where  I  liked  and  in  any  clothes  I  chose. 

On  the  23rd  Jardine  and  I  finished  our  work.     He 

120 


THE  SEARCHERS  121 

went  North  for  a  week's  fishing,  and  as  I  was  booked 
next  day  to  run  down  to  the  Sussex  coast  with  Keene- 
Leslie,  I  postponed  my  return  to  Edinburgh.  In  the 
evening  I  cleared  up  a  few  "loose  ends"  of  my  job, 
and  about  six  o'clock  started  out  from  my  rooms  in 
a  quiet  street  near  the  Museum,  on  one  of  my  aimless 
saunters.  I  made  my  way  leisurely  through  Oxford 
Street  into  Hyde  Park,  and  after  idling  there  for  an 
hour,  came  up  Rotten  Row.  A  few  drops  of  rain  made 
me  quicken  my  pace.  I  had  thought  of  dining  at  a 
good  restaurant,  but  in  Piccadilly  I  suddenly  discovered 
that  I  had  left  my  sovereign-purse  in  my  rooms,  and  a 
search  in  my  pockets  showed  that  my  resources 
amounted  to  one  florin  and  two  coppers.  However, 
I  was  not  cast  down.  There  are  very  many  places  in 
London  where  a  man  with  no  rooted  objection  to  an  un- 
aristocratic  neighbourhood  and  close  quarters  at  table 
can  get  a  decent  dinner  with  two  shillings  or  less,  and 
have  a  tip  for  the  waiter  and  a  'bus  fare  left. 

Soho-ward  I  steered.  In  Shaftesbury  Avenue  the 
rain,  which  had  been  inconsiderable,  began  to  pour 
steadily  down  out  of  a  sky  of  dismal  slate.  London 
was  promised  a  wet  night.  I  strode  briskly  on  and 
soon  had  an  embarrassing  choice  of  cheap  and  exotic 
restaurants.  At  the  little,  red-painted,  muslin-curtained 
"Au  Bienvenu"  in  Greek  Street  I  could  have  special- 
ised, among  other  delicacies,  in  "Tripes  a  la  mode  de 
Caen"  or  "Snails  in  green  butter,"  but  neither  these 
gastronomical  adventures  nor  the  grievous  aroma  of 
sauerkraut  farther  along  the  street  held  an  allure  for 
me.  I  struck  into  Frith  Street,  and  halted  at  the  Res- 
taurant de  Bon  Gout.  Its  exterior  belied  its  name. 
The  window  was  austerely  draped  in  dingy-white  cur- 
tains, with  a  few  india-rubber  plants  and  a  couple  of 
music-hall  bills  thrown  in;  but  the  carte  du  jour  an- 


122  THE  SEARCHERS 

nounced  (in  phonetic  spelling)  that  a  diner  de  cere- 
monie  was  provided  within  for  the  sum  of  one  shilling. 
This  was  the  place  for  my  money,  I  thought.  Curi- 
ously enough,  I  have  the  menu  of  my  repast  on  that 
eventful  night,  and  it  lies  before  me  as  I  write :  "Soupe, 
I  viande  au  cho'ix,  2  legumes,  a  dessert,  cafe,"  with  the 
attractive  addendum,  "pain  a  discretion."  Bread  ad 
lib.!  Does  the  language  hold  a  more  heartening  slogan 
for  hungry,  hard-up  men?  If  the  proprietor  received 
small  profits,  no  wonder  he  had  a  steady  turnover !  I 
passed  the  house  not  long  since  and  noted,  with  mingled 
feelings,  that  although  it  had  been  rechristened,  its  or- 
thographic tradition  survived  in  an  assurance  to  the 
world  which  ran:  "Ivery  atention  to  patrons."  The 
statement  tallied  with  my  experience — for  I  certainly 
received  all  the  attention  I  wanted,  and  considerably 
more. 

On  the  threshold  I  hesitated,  but  the  rain  was  now 
coming  down  in  rods  which  jumped  a  couple  of  inches 
up  from  the  pavement  and  sent  runnels  tinkling  down 
the  street  drains.  Little  recking  the  events  which 
hung  upon  my  haphazard  choice  of  a  cheap  dinner, 
I  entered.  The  dining-room  was  narrow  and  low-ceil- 
inged,  but  well  lit  and  scrupulously  clean.  The  little 
tables  were  spread  with  snowy  cloths,  and  if  the  cutlery 
and  the  glass  were  cheap,  the  cooking  was  first  rate. 
At  one  end  was  a  "snack"  buffet  where  a  stout 
daughter  of  Israel  with  an  air  of  aggressive  chastity, 
presided  over  weird  drinks  and  dishes.  These  I  re- 
sisted, and  having  secured  a  table  to  myself  and  in- 
structed a  moist  and  septic-looking  waiter  to  bring  me 
the  renowned  shilling  dinner,  I  took  a  look  at  my  fel- 
low-diners. They  were  not  an  interesting  lot;  half- 
a-dozen  city  clerks;  three  long-haired  super-specimens 
of  the  musico-artistic  breed,  drinking  vermuth  at  one 


THE  SEARCHERS  123 

of  the  tables;  a  whispering  pair  of  lovers  tete-a-tete, 
the  girl's  face  very  pretty  in  the  pink  glow  of  the 
shaded  lamp;  solitary  diners  absorbing  the  evening 
papers  along  with  their  meal;  a  couple  of  theatrical 
damsels  in  much-beflowered  hats;  and  a  lot  of  nonde- 
scripts, most  of  whom  were  obviously  foreigners. 

I  had  just  attacked  the  inevitable  petite  marmite, 
when  three  men  came  in.  I  threw  them  a  casual 
glance,  and  probably  would  have  taken  no  further  no- 
tice of  them  had  not  the  resonant  "Good-evening"  of 
one  of  them  to  the  little  proprietor  struck  full  on  my 
ear.  The  deep  voice  seemed  strangely  familiar.  The 
three  were  making  their  way  up  the  room  in  single  file 
and  all  I  could  see  was  the  back  view  of  the  man  in 
the  rear,  a  heavy,  broad-shouldered  figure  in  a  loose 
blue-serge  suit.  Having  reached  the  farthest  corner 
of  the  room,  they  sat  down  at  a  table,  the  heavy  man 
at  the  top,  facing  me,  with  his  companions  on  either 
side  of  him.  One  of  these  was  a  lanky,  evil- 
looking  young  fellow  with  a  pinchbeck  Mephistophe- 
lian  face,  the  other  a  heavily  jowled  ox  of  a  man. 
Both  were  dark,  Southern  types.  I  had  just  regis- 
tered a  mental  verdict  that  their  room  was  preferable 
to  their  company,  when  suddenly  I  became  aware  that 
the  big  man  was  staring  hard  at  me.  I  caught  his 
eye,  when  he  instantly  withdrew  it  and  began  to  talk 
to  one  of  his  companions,  but  in  that  swift  moment  I 
recognised  him,  and  I  knew  that  he  recognised  me. 
The  last  time  I  had  seen  him  was  in  the  Naples  train, 
apparently  wrapped  in  innocent  slumber,  with  a  bre- 
viary on  his  knee.  For  he  was  none  other  than  the 
simple  country  priest  with  a  discriminating  taste  in 
cigars.  Benedetto  had  discarded  his  dark-rimmed 
spectacles,  but  he  could  not  so  easily  dispense  with  his 
long,  humorous  mouth,  his  little  black  eyes,  or  the 


124  THE  SEARCHERS 

rich  contre-basse  quality  of  his  voice.  My  pulses 
quickened,  but  I  wanted  a  minute  or  two  to  think  out 
the  situation.  Feigning  unconsciousness  of  his  neigh- 
bourhood, I  went  on  with  my  dinner. 

I  am  not  a  good  actor,  and  did  not  trust  myself  to 
look  his  way  lest  he  might  read  recognition  in  my 
face ;  but,  luckily,  there  was  a  mirror  on  the  wall  on  my 
left,  and  in  it  I  contrived  to  snatch  a  wary  glance  or 
two  at  the  three  men.  Once  the  bland  old  rascal  bent 
forward  and  said  something  to  his  companions.  The 
three  heads  were  close  together  for  a  minute  or  two. 
Very  probably  the  conversation  concerned  myself,  for 
the  two  younger  men  did  not  look  in  my  direction  until 
afterwards,  when  I  saw  them  take  a  stealthy  survey  of 
me  in  turn.  Evidently  Benedetto  intended  to  play  the 
same  game  as  I  did.  He  did  not  look  at  me  again, 
but  chatted  and  laughed  with  his  confreres,  to  all  ap- 
pearance oblivious  of  my  presence.  This  went  on  un- 
til I  was  half-way  through  my  dinner,  when  he  rose 
and  came  along  between  the  rows  of  tables  towards 
the  entrance.  To  lose  sight  of  him  was  the  last  thing 
I  had  any  notion  of.  Now  or  never !  Up  I  rose  from 
my  table  and  faced  him  in  the  middle  of  the  room. 
He  halted  and  looked  at  me,  mild  surprise  in  his  eye. 

"I  have  been  looking  for  you,"  I  began. 

"Forme?" 

His  little,  puzzled,  interrogative  bow  was  a  bit  of 
excellent  acting,  but  his  next  movement  clinched  my 
suspicions.  He  put  his  hands  up  to  the  lapels  of  his 
coat,  and  instantly  I  recalled  the  hairy  paws  of  the 
knave  in  the  Naples  train! 

"For  me?"  he  repeated.  "I  have  not  the  pleasure 
of  remembering  your  face,"  he  said  coolly,  in  excellent 
English  and  with  his  voice  perfectly  under  control.  But 
I  recognised  that  voice  at  once. 


THE  SEARCHERS  125 

"Perhaps  I  may  jog  your  memory,"  I  rejoined. 
"We  met  in  the  train  at  Naples,  and  you  left  without 
giving  me  an  opportunity  of  saying  good-bye.     You 
kindly  presented  me  with  a  cigar,  and  I  have  since  been 
most  anxious  to  meet  you." 

He  shook  his  head.  The  note  of  regret  in  his  voice 
was  admirable.  "My  dear  sir!  You  are  in  error,  I 
assure  you !  I  have  not  been  out  of  England  for  years. 
A  case  of  mistaken  identity!  But  it  is  of  no  conse- 
quence. These  things  will  happen.  Sometimes  they 
are  a  little  awkward.  Pray  think  no  more  of  it." 

His  face  was  a  study  in  solicitude  lest  I  might  feel 
any  embarrassment,  and  I  confess  that  his  sangfroid 
shook  me  for  a  moment.  My  first  impulse  had  been 
to  close  with  the  oily  scoundrel  and  send  for  the  police, 
but  by  this  time  his  two  companions  had  come  closer. 
I  did  not  like  their  looks.  A  moment  or  two  passed, 
with  nothing  said  on  either  side,  the  big  man  standing 
in  front  of  me  with  an  air  of  mild  boredom.  His  two 
satellites  edged  a  foot  nearer.  Swiftly  I  made  up 
my  mind  to  "ride  cunning."  A  fracas  would  have  been 
useless,  and  in  all  probability  there  were  more  of  the 
gang  near. 

"I  believe  that  I  have  made  a  mistake.  I  am  truly 
sorry,"  I  said,  with  all  the  grace  I  could  muster. 

He  bowed,  with  "I  quite  understand,"  and  for  a 
moment  I  thought  I  caught  the  ghost  of  a  smile  on 
the  long,  thin-lipped  mouth  as  he  turned  back  to  the 
table,  followed  by  his  two  friends.  I  showed  no  sign 
of  discomfiture  and  took  my  seat  again,  outwardly,  I 
hoped,  unruffled,  but  fairly  tingling  with  excitement. 

Between  pretending  to  read  a  newspaper  and  daw- 
dling over  my  dinner,  I  contrived  to  spin  out  a  quarter 
of  an  hour,  in  which  I  got  a  good  look  at  the  trio. 
Beyond  doubt,  the  last  time  I  had  seen  the  man  facing 


126  THE  SEARCHERS 

me  was  on  the  Continental  train  when  he  was  dis- 
guised as  an  elderly  and  spectacled  priest.  I  was  itch- 
ing to  lay  him  by  the  heels;  but  there  were  obvious 
difficulties  in  the  way.  I  had  no  evidence  to  back  up 
the  charge  of  theft  of  my  belongings,  and  the  restau- 
rant was  clearly  one  of  the  man's  haunts.  The  little 
proprietor  hovered  round  his  table,  and  the  waiter  was 
at  his  beck  and  call,  a  smiling  embodiment  of  attention. 
It  was  plain  that  the  rascal  was  a  habitue  of  the  place, 
and  for  all  I  knew,  a  good  many  of  the  swarthy  diners 
might  have  been  his  friends  or  accomplices.  I  felt  sure 
that  he  thought  he  had  bluffed  me  into  believing  that  I 
had  made  a  mistake  in  accosting  him,  and  while  I  was 
wondering  what  his  next  move  would  be,  another  man 
came  in.  He  was  a  clean-shaven,  tall  man  in  evening- 
clothes  of  faultless  taste  and  cut — his  lithe  figure  and 
patrician  looks  in  striking  contrast  to  the  burly  rascal 
and  his  vulgarian  comrades.  .  .  .  Was  this  "Wake- 
ford"?  .  .  .  I  had  only  seen  him  once  at  close  quarters 
when  he  came  up  the  cliff  path  at  Ubriano  and  then 
he  wore  dark  moustaches  and  beard  and  was,  of  course, 
differently  dressed.  I  could  not  tell,  but  I  determined 
to  find  out.  The  handsome  new-comer  made  his  way 
towards  the  table  where  the  three  had  again  seated 
themselves.  The  waiter  had  just  brought  them  drinks. 
They  were  for  the  moment  engrossed,  but  at  a 
word  from  my  Naples  friend  on  the  approach  of 
the  new-comer,  they  rose  with  a  marked  air  of  defer- 
ence. There  was,  indeed,  more  than  deference  (in  the 
sense  of  acknowledgment  of  a  social  superior)  ;  there 
was  the  suggestion  of  discipline  in  their  attitude.  The 
new-comer  shook  hands  with  the  older  man  and  with 
a  careless  nod  motioned  the  other  two  to  sit  down. 
Presently  he  and  the  big  man  went  to  the  fireplace, 


THE  SEARCHERS  127 

where  they  engaged  in  animated  talk.  I  would  have 
given  a  good  deal  to  have  heard  it. 

Although  I  kept  my  eyes  glued  to  my  newspaper, 
I  was  conscious  of  being  watched.  There  are  few 
more  unpleasant  sensations,  and  a  minute  or  two  of  it 
proved  enough  for  me.  Having  laid  down  the  paper, 
I  leaned  back  in  my  chair  with  all  the  nonchalance  I 
could  muster,  and  a  swift  glance  at  the  mirror  showed 
the  new-comer  half-turned  in  my  direction,  his  heavily 
lidded  dark  eyes  lighting  on  me  for  a  moment.  Two 
or  three  minutes  afterwards  he  rose  and  sauntered 
past  my  table  to  the  office  window,  where  he  engaged  in 
conversation  for  a  little  while  with  the  proprietor. 
Then  he  came  back,  and  gave  me  a  glance  in  passing. 
It  was  perfectly  well-mannered — the  ordinary  casual, 
politely  indifferent  glance,  with  nothing  marked  in  it, 
which  one  gets  and  gives  every  day ;  but  I  thought  that 
his  eye  rested  on  me  for  just  a  second  too  long,  that  he 
was  interested,  and  had  deliberately  passed  my  table 
to  get  a  good  look  at  me.  My  suspicions  were  trebled. 

On  his  rejoining  the  others,  I  lit  a  cigarette  and  pre- 
tended to  bury  myself  in  the  newspaper.  Five  irk- 
some minutes  passed  and  then  the  four  came  down  the 
passage  between  the  tables.  None  of  them  looked 
in  my  direction  except  Benedetto,  who  gave  me  a  polite 
inclination  of  his  head  and  a  glance  of  his  little  black 
eyes  as  if  to  say,  "Sorry!  Surely  you  see  now  that 
you  must  have  made  a  mistake."  To  his  little  bow  I 
returned  what  I  imagined  was  a  disarming  smile. 

The  four  men  went  to  the  cloakroom  near  the  en- 
trance, put  on  their  overcoats,  and  went  out  through 
the  swing-door.  In  a  trice  I  paid  my  bill,  and  at 
the  door  I  nearly  ran  into  the  little,  smirking  proprie- 
tor. "Who  are  the  gentlemen  who  have  just  left?" 


128  THE  SEARCHERS 

I  asked  him.  He  was  desolated  to  be  obliged  to  in- 
form me  that  he  did  not  know  the  names  of  these 
patrons.  They  sometimes  came  here,  he  thought;  but, 
as  he  explained,  with  apologetic  upturned  palms,  there 
were  so  many  people  came  to  the  "Bon  Gout."  I 
thought  that  he  was  a  liar,  and  felt  inclined  to  tell 
him  so,  but  I  had  no  time  to  waste.  Ten  seconds  more 
and  I  was  outside. 


CHAPTER  XVIII 

THE  rain  was  still  falling  with  sodden  persistence. 
I  looked  up  and  down  the  street,  and  saw,  plainly 
enough,  the  backs  of  the  four  men  about  thirty  yards 
away  on  my  left.  The  two  ringleaders  were  in  front 
under  an  umbrella,  the  other  men  a  couple  of  yards 
behind,  arm-in-arm,  with  their  coat-collars  turned  up. 
All  were  walking  quickly  and  none  of  them  gave  a 
glance  behind.  They  held  on  their  way  to  the  junction 
of  Old  Brompton  Street  and  Wardour  Street,  where 
they  slowed  down  to  a  saunter.  Next  moment  I  heard 
the  honk!  honk!  of  a  motor-car  behind  me.  It  passed, 
slowed,  and  drew  up  abreast  of  them.  With  a  word 
to  the  chauffeur,  Benedetto  opened  the  door.  The 
other  three  men  got  in.  He  raised  his  hat  in  a  farewell 
salute,  and  the  car  started,  leaving  him  on  the  kerb. 

He  tossed  his  cigarette  into  the  street,  settled  his 
umbrella  well  down  to  his  broad  shoulders,  and  set  out 
at  a  brisk  pace.  I  followed  him.  From  Piccadilly  Cir- 
cus he  went  down  the  Haymarket,  and  thence,  via 
Cockspur  Street,  steered  down  the  west  side  of  White- 
hall. It  was  easy  to  follow  the  big  figure  with  its  light 
waterproof,  but  I  was  wary,  and  did  not  come  too  near 
him.  Apparently  unsuspecting,  he  never  once  looked 
round,  nor  did  he  slacken  his  steady  pace  until  he 
came  to  Parliament  Street,  where  he  hesitated  for  a 
moment  or  two,  and  then  bore  to  his  right  through 
some  side-streets.  In  one  of  them  a  restaurant-by-day- 
pub.-by-night  threw  a  cheerful  patch  of  light  on  the 
steaming  pavement.  Near  it  he  slowed  down,  looked 

129 


i3o  THE  SEARCHERS 

at  his  watch,  and  disappeared  through  its  red-curtained 
swing-door.  I  took  shelter  in  a  door-way  on  the  other 
side  of  the  street,  well  in  the  shadow.  There  I  lit  a 
pipe  and  composed  myself  to  wait,  pluming  myself  on 
my  great  luck  in  having  shadowed  my  man. 

The  weather  was  of  the  kind  that  clears  the  streets 
of  humanity,  other  than  cabmen  and  policemen  in  oil- 
skins or  derelicts  without  them.  I  was  cold  and  un- 
comfortable, but  in  the  doorway  I  was  out  of  the  rain, 
and  I  made  the  best  of  it,  for  if  I  could  track  my  man 
to  his  lair,  there  would  be  no  difficulty  in  interesting 
Scotland  Yard.  From  a  passer-by  I  learned  that  I  was 
in  York  Street,  Westminster.  Half-an-hour  passed. 
The  red-curtained  door  often  opened  and  closed,  but 
there  was  no  sign  of  the  rascal's  burly  frame.  Another 
half-hour  crawled  by.  By  this  time  I  was  chilled  to 
the  bone,  but  I  was  resolved  not  to  lose  trace  of  him, 
and  at  last  my  patience  was  rewarded.  The  West- 
minster chimes  heralded  the  hour.  Big  Ben  boomed 
ten  o'clock,  followed  by  a  great  chorus  of  lesser  voices. 
The  mellow  vibration  from  their  deep  throats  had 
scarcely  died  away  when  the  swing-door  opened  and 
he  appeared,  lurching  slightly  as  he  stepped  into  the 
wet  street.  Excellent!  I  thought.  It  was  plain  that 
he  had  been  at  the  bottle,  and  if  the  visit  to  the  bar 
had  blunted  his  wits,  so  much  the  better.  It  was  now 
long  odds  on  my  marking  him  down. 

Keeping  my  side  of  the  street  in  the  shadow  of  the 
towering  bulk  of  Queen  Anne's  Mansions,  I  followed 
him.  Every  dozen  yards  or  so  he  would  sway  a  little, 
then  pull  himself  together  and  start  off  again  with  the 
ludicrous  erectness  that  often  labels  the  half-drunk. 
Once,  seemingly  undecided  as  to  his  bearings,  he  stood 
for  a  long  minute  in  owlish  meditation.  Then,  appar- 
ently having  made  up  the  remains  of  his  mind,  he 


THE  SEARCHERS  131 

lurched  off  again,  going  straight  on  until  he  came  to 
a  narrow,  ill-lit  court  on  his  left,  into  which  he  turned. 
Quickening  my  pace,  I  had  just  arrived  at  the  junction 
of  the  street  with  the  court,  when  I  caught  sight  of 
him  standing  near  a  lamp-post,  unsteadily  trying  to 
light  a  cigar.  I  turned  abruptly,  and  nearly  collided 
with  a  couple  of  men  who  suddenly  appeared  out  of  no- 
where. A  hoarse  voice  said,  "Beg  pardon,  guv'nor!" 
The  hum  of  a  motor-car  sounded  near.  A  swift  sense 
of  danger  clutched  me,  but  before  I  could  draw  an- 
other breath  I  got  a  most  workman-like,  sledge-ham- 
mer blow  on  the  point  of  my  chin.  A  confused  impres- 
sion of  being  lifted  like  a  baby,  of  blurred  faces  round 
me,  the  slam  of  a  door,  and  then  a  horrible  feeling 
of  sinking  into  a  fathomless  black  depth  are  all  that 
I  remember. 

How  long  elapsed  before  my  senses  began  to  creep 
back  I  cannot  tell.  The  first  thing  I  was  conscious  of 
was  a  steady  and  continuous  humming  in  my  ears. 
Also,  there  was  a  fierce  eye  glaring  into  mine.  It  was 
large  and  unblinking,  and  I  could  not  get  away  from 
it.  My  dazed  wits  were  groping  round  the  staring 
eye  and  wondering  what  it  was,  when  a  voice,  sounding 
thin  and  far  away,  said,  "Drink,"  and  I  felt  a  flask 
held  to  my  mouth.  I  swallowed  some  good  brandy 
and  came  to  myself  with  a  gasp.  The  steady  hum 
was  explained.  I  was  in  a  motor-car;  the  fierce  eye 
was  an  electric  light  above  me ;  and  I  was  lying  on  my 
back  on  the  floor.  Presently  an  arm  was  put  in  mine 
and  helped  me  to  a  seat,  where  I  blinked  for  a  minute, 
feeling  very  queer  and  dizzy.  Sitting  oposite  to  me 
was  the  man  whom  I  had  just  been  following,  and 
beside  him  the  two  underlings. 

"You  are  better,  I  hope,  Signer  Forbes?"  he  said. 
The  sound  of  his  suave  bass  voice  and  the  sight  of  his 


132  THE  SEARCHERS 

carved  grin  filled  me  with  nausea  and  anger,  which 
must  have  been  reflected  in  my  face,  for  next  instant 
I  was  looking  into  the  barrel  of  a  revolver. 

"You  must  not  raise  your  voice,  unless  you  do  not 
wish  to  see  daylight  again." 

His  own  voice  was  not  raised.  It  was  pitched  in  an 
ordinary  conversational  tone,  but  the  little  black  sparks 
of  his  eyes  watched  my  every  movement. 

"Nor  need  you  ask  any  questions,"  he  went  on. 
"These  and  their  answers  will  come  in  good  time. 
Meanwhile,  be  assured  that  no  harm  will  befall  you 
now  or  in  the  future  if  you  are  a  sensible  man.  We 
know  you  are  unarmed.  We  took  the  liberty  of  search- 
ing you.  You  agree  to  refrain  from  raising  your 
voice?" 

I  nodded.  I  was  a  little  tired  of  the  revolver-muzzle 
near  me;  but  although  I  was  still  half-dazed,  every 
minute  was  pulling  me  together. 

Gradually  I  pieced  together  the  events  of  the  even- 
ing. Was  this  the  man  whom  I  had  last  seen  come 
out  of  the  York  Street  bar  and  lurch  along  the  street? 
His  eyes  and  his  voice  were  clear.  His  hand  was 
uncomfortably  steady — the  revolver  had  not  wavered 
a  hair's  breadth.  There  was  no  doubt  about  the  old 
scoundrel's  alertness  and  sobriety.  Not  a  trace,  not 
a  whiff,  of  alcohol  from  him  suggested  the  opposite. 
Ruefully,  I  recognised  that  I  was  no  match  for  him  in 
cunning.  I  had  been  cleverly  trapped.  From  the  mo- 
ment I  had  faced  him  in  the  restaurant  he  had  planned 
my  capture  and  his  drunkenness  was  a  ruse.  The 
shadower  had  been  shadowed. 

"You  have  a  mobile  countenance,  signore,"  he 
purred  as  he  lowered  the  revolver  and  shook  a  fat  fin- 
ger playfully  at  me.  "It  betrays  self-reproach.  I  de- 


THE  SEARCHERS  133 

tect  more  than  a  little  chagrin  in  it.  In  fact,  I  suspect 
you  are  in  a  towering  rage." 

"What  is  the  meaning  of  this  outrage?"  I  tried  to 
speak  resolutely,  but  my  voice  was  weak  and  quaver- 
ing. The  men's  faces  spun  round  me,  and  I  felt  un- 
comfortably like  fainting. 

"Gently!  Gently!  Compose  yourself,  Signer 
Forbes,"  said  the  smooth  voice. 

He  watched  me  for  a  few  minutes  until  I  showed 
signs  of  recovery. 

"You  have  invited  attention  to  yourself,  which  you 
no  doubt  resent,"  he  continued  in  his  oily,  rich  bass. 
"But  consider!  Having  tried,  unsuccessfully,  to  in- 
veigle a  peaceful  citizen"  (this  with  a  complacent  grin) 
"into  conversation  in  the  'Bon  Gout,'  you  followed  him, 
not,  perhaps,  with  intelligence,  but  with  a  certain 
wooden  persistence.  The  peaceful  citizen,  however, 
regarded  this  as  a  liberty,  and,  while  you  were 
shivering  in  the  rain,  arranged  that  you  should  have 
an  opportunity  of  offering  him  in  the  strictest  privacy, 
a  full  explanation  of  your  conduct." 

"Was  it  necessary  for  this  that  I  should  be  knocked 
senseless  and  kidnapped?" 

"Perhaps  not  necessary,  in  the  strict  sense,"  he  said, 
inclining  his  big  head  judicially.  "I  prefer  to  call  it 
prudent.  Yes!  Prudent  is  the  word.  My  dear  sir, 
what  would  you  have  done  in  the  circumstances?  The 
poetic  justice  of  the  situation  surely  appeals  to  you." 
He  chuckled  softly.  "Come!  I  am  no  sour  dullard, 
as  I  hope  you  may  discover.  We  shall  set  you  down 
in  comfort  near  your  own  home,  if  you  convince  us 
that  you  are  a  man  willing  to  listen  to  reason." 

His  voice  and  eternal  smile  could  not  hide  some- 
thing ruthless  in  his  every  fibre.  Notwithstanding  his 
bland  and  easy  manner,  I  felt  that  he  had  about  as 


i34  THE  SEARCHERS 

much  conscience  as  a  rattlesnake.  In  the  Naples  train 
he  had  passed  for  an  agreeable,  garrulous,  chance  ac- 
quaintance. Now  his  face  was  hateful.  I  was  almost 
glad  of  the  other  men's  presence.  To  have  been  alone 
with  this  smooth  creature  would  have  been  like  sharing 
the  cage  of  a  watchful  reptile. 

I  found  my  tongue  once  more.  "Where  are  you 
taking  me?  I  warn  you  that  you  shall  pay  for  this." 

"A  little  trip  to  the  country  is  proposed.  You  may 
suffer  inconvenience,  the  precise  amount  of  which  de- 
pends, as  I  hinted  to  you,  on  the  sense  of  justice  you 
possess." 

"Justice!" 

"On  your  common-sense  then,"  he  went  on  with 
a  shrug.  "As  for  my  paying  for  the  disorganisation 
of  your  affairs,  I  hope  this  will  be  adjusted  between 
us  in  a  little  'give-and-take,'  like  sensible  men.  Per- 
mit me,  however,  to  suggest  that  I  cannot  enter  further 
on  a  discussion,  however  interesting,  in  the  presence  of 
my  subordinates.  You  will  be  acting  wisely  if  you  com- 
pose yourself  and,  meanwhile,  keep  silent." 

The  man's  assurance,  the  leisurely  boom  of  his  ve- 
neered phrases,  and  his  crafty  grin  fairly  goaded  me 
into  losing  my  temper.  I  stormed  at  him,  telling  him 
that  he  and  his  gang  were  known,  and  that  my  friends 
would  speedily  run  them  to  earth.  I  called  him  names 
until  I  was  tired,  and  the  futility  of  it  choked  me;  but 
the  only  reply  he  vouchsafed  was  to  switch  off  the  elec- 
tric light.  There  he  sat  in  silence,  his  face  in  the 
shadowy  corner  looking  like  some  evil  heathen  god's. 


CHAPTER  XIX 

NOT  a  glimpse  of  the  outer  world  was  visible  beyond 
occasional  blades  of  light  which  came  from  the  streets 
through  an  eye-hole  in  one  of  the  blinds.  The  car 
was  running  evenly  at,  I  guessed,  some  twenty  miles 
an  hour.  Now  and  then  it  slowed  down  to  thread  its 
way  among  busy  rumbling  streets;  but  gradually  the 
traffic  thinned,  the  fitful  flickers  of  light  from  street- 
lamps  and  windows  showed  at  lengthening  intervals, 
the  voice  of  the  city  fell  to  a  mutter,  and  the  car  forged 
ahead  at  a  much  swifter  pace.  All  that  time  I  sat  in  in- 
tolerable suspense  and  inaction,  without  uttering  a 
word. 

My  captor  sat  back  in  his  corner  in  silence,  smoking 
a  cigar;  nor  did  the  other  men  speak,  beyond  exchang- 
ing a  whisper  or  two  in  Italian.  I  was  wondering  how 
long  the  strange  journey  would  last,  when  the  light  was 
again  switched  on,  and  my  vis-a-vis  leaned  forward. 

"We  shall  leave  the  car  soon,"  he  said.  "I  must  ask 
you  to  give  me  your  word  of  honour  that  you  will  make 
no  attempt  to  attract  attention." 

"And  if  I  refuse?" 

"We  shall  be  under  the  unpleasant  necessity  of  gag- 
ging you  before  we  leave  the  car.  But  I  am  unwilling 
to  submit  you  to  this  indignity,"  he  rejoined,  with  odi- 
ous politeness.  "As  it  is,  I  am  afraid  that  we  must 
blindfold  you;  but  if  you  promise  not  to  call  out,  this 
is  the  only  liberty  that  I  propose  to  take — er — at  pres- 
ent." 

Argument  or  expostulation  would  have  been  useless; 
the  compulsitor  of  events  was  too  strong  for  me.  The 

135 


136  THE  SEARCHERS 

scoundrel  meant  what  he  said,  and  as  the  three  of  them 
could  easily  have  overpowered  and  gagged  me,  re- 
sistance promised  nothing  except  the  certainty  of  fur- 
ther violence. 

Swallowing  my  mortification,  I  replied  as  uncon- 
cernedly as  I  could,  "Very  well;  I  promise." 

"I  am  obliged  to  you.  I  think  that  you  will  keep 
your  promise.  Now,  be  so  good  as  to  bind  this  over 
your  eyes." 

He  handed  me  a  handkerchief.  I  blindfolded  my- 
self (not  very  carefully,  I  confess),  and  as  I  did  so  the 
car  slowed  round  a  sharp  corner.  The  wheels 
crunched  on  soft  gravel  and  came  to  a  standstill. 

"Now,  Signer  Forbes,"  said  my  Naples  friend,  "our 
little  trip  is  at  an  end.  Please  accompany  me.  Re- 
member your  promise  of  silence." 

He  put  a  muscular  arm  in  mine  and  one  of  the  men 
took  me  by  the  wrist  on  the  other  side.  The  hand- 
kerchief was  pulled  down  well  over  my  eyes,  the  door 
of  the  car  flung  open,  and  I  was  led  out  and  up  a  flight 
of  five  steps.  After  two  or  three  paces  forward  I  was 
taken  into  the  warmth  of  a  house,  and,  I  thought,  in- 
side a  hall.  Here  my  coat  and  hat  were  taken  from 
me,  and  the  door  was  closed.  The  lock  rasped  and 
without  a  moment's  delay  I  was  guided  along  a 
passage  and  into  a  room.  Both  the  passage  and  the 
room,  I  noted,  were  to  the  right.  Not  until  I  was  well 
inside  the  room  did  my  captors  release  my  arms  and 
slip  off  the  handkerchief.  An  electric  light  was 
switched  on,  and  revealed  to  me  a  small  apartment,  un- 
carpeted,  scantily  furnished  with  a  couch  and  a  couple 
of  chairs,  and  having  a  single  heavily  shuttered  window 
in  an  embrasure.  There  was  no  fire,  and  the  room 
had  the  unmistakable  old  musty  smell  of  a  place  which 
had  been  shut  up  and  disused  for  some  time.  The 


THE  SEARCHERS  137 

leader  gave  a  nod  to  the  others,  who  left  the  room 
at  once. 

"Where  am  I?"  I  began  hotly. 

"All  in  good  time.     I  am  not  master  here." 

I  risked  a  "bluff"  and  said: 

"I  know  that.  Your  master  is  the  man  who  calls 
himself  'Wakeford.'  We  know  his  real  name,  and 
I  recognised  him  as  well  as  you  in  the  restaurant." 

"He  will  be  most  interested.  I  may  as  well  tell  you 
that  you  are  right  about  him.  He  will  arrive  imme- 
diately. I  ought  to  warn  you  that,  unfortunately,  he 
has  not  my  easy  temper.  It  is  improbable  that  you  will 
leave  this  house  alive  unless  you  completely  satisfy  him 
on  certain  points." 

In  a  gust  of  anger  I  took  a  couple  of  steps  nearer 
him.  He  never  blinked  an  eye,  but  with  swift  dexterity 
covered  me  with  the  revolver.  There  was  no  veneer 
of  politeness  in  his  voice  now. 

"I  fear  you  also  have  a  doubtful  temper,"  he 
growled.  "I  counsel  you  to  keep  it  on  chain,  for  I  warn 
you  that  you  will  not  get  two  chances  if  you  attempt 
any  violence.  By  the  way,  what  a  fortunate  accident 
it  was  that  led  you  to  the  restaurant!" 

"You  are  the  man  I  met  in  the  Naples  train.  My 
presence  in  the  restaurant  was  not  accidental.  I  went 
there  to  seek  you." 

I  lied  boldly,  but  he  was  not  put  out  in  the  least. 
With  a  shrug  of  his  shoulders  he  sat  down  opposite 
me. 

"Whether  by  accident  or  by  design,  your  arrival 
was  the  one  thing  I  wanted.  As  for  the  incident  in  the 
Naples  train,  Signor  Forbes,  I  regard  it  as  one  of  my 
most  amusing  experiences."  He  put  on  his  dark- 
rimmed  spectacles,  and  gave  me  a  villainous  leer.  "I 


>i38  THE  SEARCHERS 

must  compliment  you  upon  your  strong  head.  My 
cigar  took  a  long  time  to  induce  repose." 

Just  then  a  footstep  sounded  in  the  corridor.  He 
backed  to  the  door,  keeping  his  wicked  little  eye  on 
me,  and  admitted  "Wakeford."  Then,  without  a  word, 
he  left  the  room.  The  new-comer  locked  the  door  and 
having  motioned  me  to  a  chair,  sat  down  on  the  op- 
posite side  of  the  empty  fireplace,  and  took  some 
papers  from  his  pocket.  At  close  quarters  the  lines 
of  his  handsome  face  bespoke  resolution,  even  ruth- 
lessness.  Having  turned  over  the  papers  with  a  white 
and  delicate  hand,  he  selected  one,  glanced  at  its  con- 
tents, then  leaned  back  in  his  chair  and  addressed  me 
with  well-bred  composure. 

"I  am  unwilling,  Mr.  Forbes,  to  cause  you  more  in- 
convenience than  is  necessary,  and  I  am  anxious  to  give 
you  your  liberty  at  the  earliest  possible  moment,  but 
your  freedom  and  indeed  your  future,  depend  on  your 
prudence  and  good  sense." 

"I  am  in  no  mood  for  circumlocution,"  I  said  coldly. 
"Pray  come  to  the  point  at  once !" 

"Your  directness  is  all  in  your  favour.  I  am  of 
your  mind.  Let  us  waste  no  time.  You  have  (or  you 
had)  in  your  possession  a  document  which  I  want.  It 
was  taken  by  you  one  day  last  month  from  the  little 
house  in  the  Italian  village  ojLUbriano  after  the  En- 
glishman died.  The  document  was  stolen  from  its 
rightful  owners,  whom  I  represent." 

"Surely  the  simple  course  is  to  send  for  the  police," 
I  rejoined. 

His  face  relaxed  in  a  flicker  of  a  smile.  "Ah  1  The 
police !  Believe  me,  I  do  not  underrate  your  Criminal 
Investigation  Department.  Indeed" — again  the  faint 
smile — "no  one,  if  I  may  say  so,  is  more  familiar  with 
its  methods  than  I.  But  I  do  not  propose  to  invite  its 


THE  SEARCHERS  139 

excellent  assistance  in  a  matter  like  this,  which  requires 
delicate  handling." 

I  thought  of  the  drugged  cigar  in  Italy  and  the 
knock-out  blow  from  which  I  had  barely  recovered,  and 
raised  my  eyebrows. 

"I  am  sorry,"  said  he.  "Coarse  methods  are  re- 
pellent to  me,  but  they  were  necessary.  One  cannot 
always  choose  one's  instruments.  You  must  give  me 
the  document." 

"Must?" 

His  eye  met  mine  steadily,  and  a  hard  ring  came 
into  his  voice. 

"Realise  at  once  that  if  the  document  is  not  forth- 
coming you  do  not  see  daylight  again.  I  have  neither 
the  time  nor  the  inclination  for  half-measures.  Do  you 
pretend  that  no  paper  was  taken  away  from  the  En- 
glishman Forbes?" 

"I  do  not,"  I  said,  for  I  saw  little  to  be  gained  by 
evasion;  "but  it  is  not  in  my  hands.  It  is  with  its  right- 
ful owner." 

"Rightful  owner!"  There  was  a  contemptuous 
frown  on  his  brow,  but  he  leaned  forward  with  an 
eager  note  in  his  voice.  "His  name?" 

"I  shall  not  tell  you,"  I  answered  firmly.  "If  the 
document  was  stolen,  I  repeat  that  your  remedy  is  to 
inform  the  police.  When  and  where  was  it  stolen,  and 
by  whom?" 

"That  is  beside  the  question.  It  was  given  to  you 
by  the  Englishman  Forbes,  or  stolen  by  you  after  his 
death." 

I  kept  a  tight  rein  on  my  temper,  for  I  had  an  idea 
that  I  might  be  on  the  track  of  useful  information. 

"Let  us  assume  that  it  did  come  into  my  hands,"  I 
said.  "Your  associate  who  has  just  left  us  tries,  with 
the  aid  of  a  drugged  cigar,  to  steal  it  from  me  in  a  rail- 


140  THE  SEARCHERS 

way  carriage.  He  fails,  and  the  next  time  I  see  him,  he 
arranges  with  you  to  have  me  knocked  senseless  and 
kidnapped.  Do  these  methods  strike  you  as  likely 
to  be  employed  by  honest  men  trying  to  get  their  own 
property  back?  Your  name  is  not  Wakeford.  You 
are  one  of  The  Searchers!" 

Surprised  out  of  his  real  or  assumed  imperturb- 
ability, he  sat  up  suddenly,  frowning,  his  eyes  fixed  on 
mine. 

"What  can  you Pshaw!"  He  snapped  his  fin- 
gers contemptuously.  "What  conception  have  you  of 
our  Society?  Any  country  policeman  knows  of  your 
ludicrous  British  imitations  of  it.  We — the  Brother- 
hood— flourished  long  before  any  of  your  mushroom 
Ancient  Orders  of  This,  That,  and  The  Other  Tom- 
fooleries in  England  were  thought  of.  It  is  centuries 
old.  It  has  its  traditions,  its  history,  and  its  rules, 
and — one  of  them  has  been  broken." 

"Yes.  I  know  that  you  have  been  outwitted  lately," 
I  said  coolly.  It  was  a  random  shot.  I  had  not  the 
least  idea  what  his  reference  to  a  rule  having  been 
broken  meant,  but  his  next  words — "Whence  comes 
your  knowledge?" — and  his  vertical  frown  told  me 
that  I  had  found  a  joint  in  his  harness. 

"That  I  propose  to  keep  to  myself,"  I  said.  "But 
you  know  that  it  is  true.  Meanwhile,  I  warn  you  that 
my  absence  will  be  remarked,  and  I  am  willing  to  make 
a  sporting  bet  that  your  Society  of  peculiar  methods 
— The  Searchers — traditions  or  no  traditions,  will 
soon  be  heartily  sorry  that  they  laid  hands  on  me.  If 
I  am  not  set  free  in  another  half-hour,  my  friends,  who, 
I  assure  you,  know  the  position,  will  find  me." 

"Alive?" 

"Alive  or  dead."  I  thought  that  my  answer  was  un- 
expected, but  he  said  nothing,  and  I  went  on;  "If  I  am 


THE  SEARCHERS  141 

dead,  you  cannot  fail  to  see  that  your  object  is  de- 
feated once  and  for  all.  'Dead  men  tell  no  tales'  is 
a  two-edged  saying." 

He  did  not  reply  immediately.  Watching  him,  I 
had  more  than  a  suspicion  that  under  his  cool  mask  he 
was  weighing  my  words.  His  vertical  frown  deepened, 
and  a  momentary  twitching  of  his  throat  was  a  plain 
sign  of  disquiet.  From  that  moment,  too,  his  voice 
lost  something  of  its  assurance.  This  man,  I  thought, 
was  more  highly  strung  than  the  Naples  knave. 

"What  do  you  mean?" 

"My  words  were  plain  enough.  Unless  I  am  set 
free  at  once  from  this  trap,  you  and  your  associates 
will  get  your  deserts.  I  think  Scotland  Yard  has  a 
few  scores  to  settle." 

"I  can  only  assume  that  you  do  not  realise  the  posi- 
tion you  are  in.  Foolhardiness  offends  my  sense  of 
proportion.  You  must  be  aware  that  you  are  com- 
pletely at  my  mercy.  This  room,  if  I  but  lift  a  finger, 
becomes  your  oubliette.  This  is  my  last  word.  I  shall 
not  alter  my  terms.  You  shall  never — never,  you  un- 
derstand— be  seen  or  heard  of  again  if  I  do  not  receive 
the  document." 

"My  answer  is  also  final.  We  understand  each 
other.  I  shall  not  discuss  the  subject  further." 

He  walked  slowly  to  the  door,  and  having  unlocked 
it,  turned  to  me  a  face  pale  with  anger  and  disappoint- 
ment. 

"Nous  verrons!  Meanwhile,  pleasant  dreams,  Mr. 
Forbes  I"  The  door  closed  behind  him,  the  key  turned 
in  the  lock,  and  his  footsteps  soon  died  away. 

I  went  to  the  door  and  listened  intently.  A  curious 
noise  like  the  faint  rumble  of  traffic,  but  coming  from 
within  the  house,  reached  me.  I  caught  its  sound  a 
few  minutes  after  I  had  been  left  alone,  at  first  low 


i42  THE  SEARCHERS 

and  indefinite,  afterwards  louder,  until  I  likened  it  to 
the  purring  of  some  monstrous  animal.  I  would  have 
put  it  down  to  the  starting  of  the  motor-car,  had  not 
the  purring  gone  on  steadily  for  a  quarter  of  an  hour. 
Then  it  ceased  altogether,  and  there  fell  a  silence  so 
uncanny  that  after  another  quarter  of  an  hour  I  came 
to  the  conclusion  that  my  quarters  were  cut  off  from 
the  rest  of  the  house,  and  that  the  walls  were  dead- 
ened. 

Ordinarily,  the  thought  of  being  spirited  away  in 
civilised,  police-rated  London  would  have  been  too 
fantastic,  but  the  thing  had  happened !  Within  a  short 
distance  of  Scotland  Yard,  I  had  fallen  into  the  hands 
of  a  gang  of  dexterous  scoundrels  who  would  stick  at 
nothing  to  gain  their  ends.  The  swiftness  and  the 
cunning  which  had  plucked  me  out  of  the  lighted  Lon- 
don streets  made  it  plain  that  The  Searchers  had  dia- 
bolical resources  and  organisation.  I  confess  that  I 
was  badly  frightened,  but  after  a  few  minutes'  sterile 
brooding,  I  resolutely  abandoned  conjuring  up  cases  of 
mysterious  disappearance,  and  turned  to  an  examina- 
tion of  the  room. 

A  strict  inspection  of  it  put  any  attempt  at  prison- 
breaking  out  of  my  mind.  The  locked  door  was  mas- 
sive, the  shutters  of  the  window  were  secured  by  pad- 
locked iron  bars,  not  a  crevice  showed  in  the  walls, 
and  the  chimney  was  narrow  and  impassable.  There 
was  nothing  for  it  but  to  nurse  my  nerves  till  the  com- 
ing of  morning,  and  again  present  a  bold  front  to  my 
captors. 

One  circumstance  heartened  me.  It  was  evident 
that  my  knowledge  of  The  Searchers  was  totally  un- 
expected by  their  leader.  In  ignorance  of  how  much 
my  friends  and  I  knew,  he  might  shrink  from  the  con- 


THE  SEARCHERS  143 

sequence  to  himself  of  even  undiscovered  murder,  for 
it  was  obvious  that  his  one  desire  was  to  lay  hands  on 
the  paper.  Foul  play  to  me  would  make  his  chance* 
of  getting  it  a  thousand  times  worse. 


CHAPTER  XX 

THE  night  dragged  on.  I  had  groped  my  way  to 
the  couch,  and  lay,  awake  and  unrefreshed,  until  in  the 
dark  early  hours  I  caught  the  sound  of  some  one  stir- 
ring in  the  house.  Footsteps  halted  in  the  corridor 
outside,  the  key  turned  in  the  lock,  the  electric  light 
was  switched  on  and  "Wakeford"  entered.  He  was 
still  in  evening-clothes,  and  carried  a  soft  hat  and  a 
dust-coat.  These  he  tossed  to  the  couch,  and  having 
locked  the  door,  put  the  key  in  his  pocket  and  sat  down 
opposite  me. 

He  began  by  apologising  for  interrupting  my  rest, 
and  his  tone,  at  first,  was  almost  conciliatory. 

"Come,  Mr.  Forbes;  surely  we  can  arrive  at  an 
understanding,"  he  said. 

"I  have  nothing  to  add  to  what  I  have  said,"  I 
told  him.  "You  can,  of  course,  do  what  you  please, 
but  the  document  is  not  mine,  nor  is  it  in  my  keeping. 
Short  of  your  stealing  it,  you  can  never  lay  hands  on 
it." 

He  controlled  himself,  but  with  an  obvious  effort. 

"Consider,"  he  began  again.  "It  can  be  of  no  use 
to  you,"  and  this  time  there  was  almost  a  pleading 
note  in  his  voice.  "I  assume  that  you  value  your  life, 
and  that  you  know  you  cannot  pit  yourself  against  us." 

"Your  own  life  would  be  short  if  mine  were  lost 
or  even  endangered.  There  are  two  or  three  matters 
to  which  Scotland  Yard  and  the  Surete  of  Paris  have 
given  some  attention,  and  in  which  you  are  interested. 

144 


THE  SEARCHERS  145 

For  instance,  there  are  the  little  affairs  of  the  Plymouth 
mail,  the  Linovada  Hotel  Syndicate,  and " 

"Bah!"  he  interrupted.  "These  are  of  the  past — 
dead  and  buried.  We  defeated  both  Scotland  Yard 
and  the  Rue  de  Jerusalem ;  and  they  know  it." 

He  drew  his  chair  close  to  me. 

"Mr.  Forbes,  if  I  am  not  mistaken,  I  can  convince 
you  of  the  uselessness  of  persistence  in  your  attitude. 
No  doubt  it  is  'British'  and  'bulldog'  and  all  that  your 
strange  nation  worships.  But  it  is  senseless.  Listen. 
I  have  money  and  power  at  my  disposal.  The  Search- 
ers have  a  history;  and,  strange,  incredible  though  it 
may  seem  to  you,  I  have  a  sentiment — a  foolish  kink 
of  the  mind,  if  you  like — regarding  it.  You  may  not 
be  able  to  understand  this  feeling,  but  it  is  there.  Pray 
do  not  imagine  that  we  shall  fail  in  this  quest.  It  is 
not  the  experience  of  the  Brotherhood  to  be  thwarted. 
We  have  a  way  of  surmounting  difficulties.  Regarding 
ourselves  as  ordinary  citizens,  I  have  no  personal  ani- 
mosity to  you.  Rather  the  reverse !  You  have  certain 
qualities  which  extort  my  admiration.  Your  common- 
sense  may  save  you,  if  you  listen  to  it." 

He  stopped,  as  if  awaiting  a  reply,  his  eye  trying  to 
read  mine.  I  said  nothing  and  he  went  on  smoothly 
enough,  though  the  masterful  frown  showed  again. 

"You  have  the  misfortune  to  stand  in  my  way;  that 
is  all.  But  I  am  a  trustee,  a  sworn  member — nay,  a 
leader — of  a  great  organisation.  We  permit  no  defi- 
ance, and  have  only  one  sentence  for  it.  I  am  (to 
avoid — shall  I  say? — extreme  measures)  about  to  sug- 
gest a  fair  and  sensible  arrangement,  which  will  ensure 
your  freedom  now.  What  price  do  you  put  on  the 
document?" 

"It  is  not  mine." 


146  THE  SEARCHERS 

"Pouf !  This  is  sheer  lunacy!  Negotiations  are  not 
impossible." 

"So  far  as  I  am  concerned  they  are." 

His  face  grew  dark,  and  for  the  first  time  I  fancied 
that  I  detected  a  loosening  of  his  self-control.  I  kept 
on  guard  lest  he  might  lose  his  temper. 

"Where  is  this  document?"  he  snarled. 

"Safe  with  its  rightful  owner  and  out  of  your  reach." 

"For  the  last  time  I  ask  you,  who  and  where  is 
he?" 

"That  I  refuse  to  tell.  To  force  or  cajole  his  name 
from  me  is  the  reason  why  I  was  brought  here." 

He  looked  at  me  with  a  savage  earnestness,  and 
suddenly  burst  out:  "If  you  are  in  league  with  the 
miserable,  thieving,  red-haired  traitor,  I  swear  that 
your  fate  will  be  the  same  as  his.  His  days  are  num- 
bered. I  swear  it,"  he  said,  with  cold  and  ferocious 
deliberation,  his  eye  searching  mine.  "You  and  your 
ingenious  friend  Keene-Leslie  succeeded  in  outwitting 
us  in  Italy,  but  you  shall  not  do  so  a  second  time.  My 
time  is  short.  Here  are  my  terms:  On  the  delivery 
of  the  paper  you  shall  receive  a  sum  which  means  afflu- 
ence for  life.  The  details  can  be  arranged  promptly. 
These  are  fair  terms.  If  you  reject  them,  to  save  your 
life  will  be  out  of  my  power.  The  Brotherhood  will 
deal  in  its  own  way  with  you.  I  am  empowered  to  of- 
fer you  in  return  for  the  paper  a  princely  sum.  The 
Leopard's  Eye  alone  is  worth  a  fortune.  Think  what 
it  means  to  you." 

I  risked  a  bold  card. 

"Terms  are  out  of  the  question  with  persons  whose 
next  appearance  will  probably  be  in  the  dock." 

He  jumped  up  from  his  chair,  but  I  held  up  my 
hand  and  raised  my  voice.  "This  house  is  known.  You 
and  your  gang  are  known.  The  game  will  soon  be  up." 


THE  SEARCHERS  147 

His  face  became  transfigured  with  fury  and  menace- 
To  this  day  I  believe  that,  for  a  moment,  my  Hfe  was 
in  danger. 

"You  are  in  league  with  the  snake,  the  traitor.  I 
swear,"  he  said,  his  anger  choking  him — "I  swear  that 
you  and  he  shall  pay  the  same  penalty.  I  shall  watch 
you  die  by  inches.  I  shall  hunt  him  down" — and  this 
with  a  great  oath — "I  shall  watch  him  die.  ...  I 

shall "  He  came  a  pace  nearer  me,  livid  with 

passion. 

His  loss  of  self-control  was  his  undoing.  As  he 
made  a  spring  I  ducked  just  in  time  to  escape  his  hands 
on  my  throat,  and  in  the  same  instant  I  got  my  left 
strait  on  his  solar  plexus.  The  blow  knocked  the 
breath  out  of  him,  and  before  he  could  give  a  second 
gasp  I  followed  with  an  upper  cut  from  my  right 
on  his  chin.  He  dropped  like  a  stone.  I  was  not  "see- 
ing red,"  but  knowing,  without  the  shadow  of  a  doubt, 
that  mercy  to  him  meant  death  for  me,  I  lifted  him  up 
and  heaved  him  against  the  opposite  wall.  The  impact 
of  his  skull  on  the  wall  and  the  limp  motionless  huddle 
of  his  body  told  me  that  he  would  not  trouble  me  for  at 
least  some  precious  minutes.  Grimly  thankful  that  I 
had  been  a  useful  three-quarter  in  the  old  "footer" 
days  at  Raeburn  Place,  I  bent  over  him.  He  was 
breathing,  but  unconscious,  and  a  trickle  of  blood  came 
from  one  ear. 

I  got  my  wind  back  and  listened  intently,  but  there 
was  not  the  slightest  sound  from  the  house.  There 
was  not  a  moment  to  lose.  The  man  lay  still,  breath- 
ing heavily,  his  eyes  closed.  Slipping  his  revolver  into 
my  pocket,  I  ran  my  fingers  through  his  evening-clothes 
for  the  door-key  and  in  search  of  anything  which  might 
be  of  use  to  me  afterwards  in  the  way  of  information; 
but  I  found  nothing.  His  fawn-coloured  coat  and 


148  THE  SEARCHERS 

soft  hat  were  lying  on  the  couch.  I  put  them  on 
quickly,  pulled  the  coat-collar  up  to  my  ears,  jammed 
the  hat  well  down  and  with  my  mind  made  up,  if  the 
need  arose,  to  fire  at  sight,  I  cautiously  unlocked  the 
door.  Then,  with  the  revolver  ready,  my  pulse  at  the 
gallop,  I  peered  out  into  the  corridor.  It  was  dark, 
except  for  a  faint  greenish  gleam  five  or  six  yards  or 
so  on  my  left.  Having  noiselessly  locked  the  door,  I 
put  the  key  in  my  pocket,  and  holding  my  breath,  tip- 
toed a  foot  at  a  time  down  the  corridor  towards  the 
light.  This,  I  found,  came  from  a  single  electric  bulb 
held  aloft  in  the  hand  of  a  marble  statuette  round  the 
bend  of  the  corridor,  at  its  junction  with  a  well-car- 
peted hall.  The  light  was  dim,  and  after  half-a-dozen 
stealthy  steps  forward  into  the  hall,  I  blundered  into 
an  alcove  lined  with  coats  and  hats.  It  was  well  that 
I  did,  for  I  had  hardly  reached  its  shelter  when  a  sud- 
den shrill  noise  close  beside  me  stiffened  me  with  fright. 
It  was  only  a  telephone-bell;  but  its  uncanny  presence 
in  the  dark — like  some  invisible  watcher — positively 
made  my  scalp  creep. 

There  was  just  time  to  crouch  in  the  darkest  corner 
of  the  alcove  when  quick  and  heavy  footsteps  sounded 
on  the  floor  above  me  and  began  to  descend  the  stairs. 
My  heart  was  beating  unpleasantly  when  their  owner 
neared  my  hiding-place,  but  he  hurried  past,  and  went 
straight  to  the  telephone.  It  was  Benedetto;  I  heard 
his  rich  bass  voice  saying,  "Yes.  .  .  .  Ah!  .  .  .  It  is 
you,  signore.  .  .  .  Other  business  on  hand  just  now. 
Your  message  must  wait."  (I  felt  horribly  certain  that 
the  "other  business"  referred  to  me.)  "I  cannot  dis- 
turb him  just  now;  but  the  car  is  waiting,  and  if  he 
does  not  send  for  me  in  a  quarter  of  an  hour,  I'll  de- 
liver your  message.  It  must  keep  until  then.  Yes. 
The  affair  went  off  like  clockwork.  So  did 


THE  SEARCHERS  149 

Signer  Forbes !  Ha !  ha !  .  .  .  Yes.  .  .  .  We  got  here 
without  an  incident — not  so  much  as  a  kick.  .  .  .  Ah ! 
Call  me  in  a  quarter  of  an  hour,  then." 

He  rang  off  and  walked  briskly  back  to  the  foot 
of  the  stair,  where  he  sood  and  listened  for  a  moment. 
Then,  apparently  satisfied,  he  went  upstairs,  humming 
an  air.  I  heard  a  door  shut,  and  once  more  his  foot- 
steps on  the  flooring  overhead.  My  luck  had  held. 
I  drew  a  long  breath  of  relief.  Had  the  old  villain 
discovered  me,  my  only  chance  would  have  been  to  fire 
first.  There  remained  the  danger  of  the  man  in  the 
room  regaining  consciousness.  The  slightest  noise — • 
the  upsetting  of  a  chair,  a  false  step — and  the  house 
would  spring  into  life. 

In  my  jacket-pocket  was  a  box  of  vestas.  Having 
covered  it  with  the  overcoat  to  stifle  the  sound,  I  struck 
a  light  and  looked  around  the  corner  of  the  alcove. 
The  way  to  the  door  was  straight,  and  clear  of  furni- 
ture. I  blew  the  match  out  and  feeling  like  the  central 
figure  in  a  nightmare,  moved  noiselessly  forward. 

A  thin  current  of  air  met  me  and  to  my  astonish- 
ment, I  found  that  the  door  was  slightly  open.  Draw- 
ing it  wider,  stealthily,  inch  by  inch,  I  stepped  out  into 
the  chill  night  air.  One — two — three — four — five 
steps,  and  my  feet  were  on  the  gravel.  Another 
twenty  yards  with  my  nerves  taut,  and,  "Here  I  am, 
signore.  The  car  is  ready,"  came  a  voice  out  of  the 
darkness  in  a  wary  half-whisper.  I  own  that  I  got  a 
bad  shake.  Chagrined,  beaten  "on  the  post,"  I  stood 
stock  still  for  a  second  or  two,  straining  my  eyes  into 
the  gloom,  when,  "This  way,  signore,"  came  the  voice 
again,  and  I  saw  the  pin-point  of  an  electric  torch  lead- 
ing the  way.  Recovering  my  scattered  wits,  I  fol- 
lowed the  light  boldly,  but  not  trusting  myself  to  re- 
ply, for  the  man  had  obviously  mistaken  me  for  some- 


150  THE  SEARCHERS 

body  else.  Then  came  the  rattle  of  a  key  and  the 
sound  of  the  gate  being  opened.  I  hunched  my  shoul- 
ders into  my  coat-collar  and  went  forward,  to  find  my 
confiding  guide  holding  open  the  door  of  an  empty 
motor-car.  There  was  a  chauffeur  on  the  driving- 
seat,  who  turned  round  and  touched  his  hat.  The 
glare  of  the  head-lamp  threw  me  into  shadow.  "Buona 
notte,  signore"  came  from  my  guide.  Not  a  second 
did  I  hesitate.  I  jumped  in;  the  door  was  shut;  and 
after  an  intolerable  delay  (it  seemed  to  me)  during 
which  the  guide  said  a  word  or  two  to  the  chauffeur, 
the  gate  closed  with  a  clang.  Next  moment  the  car 
started. 

Where  it  was  going  did  not  matter,  so  long  as  it  put 
miles  between  me  and  the  accursed  house.  I  did  not 
risk  switching  on  the  light.  The  chauffeur  had  not 
seen  my  face  and  was  looking  steadily  ahead,  intent  on 
the  steering-wheel.  I  struck  a  vesta  and  looked  at  my 
watch.  It  was  almost  half-past  two.  In  a  couple  of 
minutes  the  car  was  running  swiftly  and  smoothly — 
much  too  quickly  for  me  to  risk  jumping  out;  but  I 
made  up  my  mind  to  leave  without  ceremony  when  it 
slowed  down.  Still  feeling  like  a  man  in  an  evil  dream, 
I  kept  my  eyes  on  the  driver  and  waited  for  develop- 
ments. None  came.  The  man's  stolid  back  never 
turned.  The  car  hummed  along  at  a  good  pace,  past 
lamps  and  the  dim  shapes  of  houses,  now  and  then  over 
street  pavements.  My  nerves  were  steadying.  We 
were  nearing  London,  I  was  sure.  Once  there,  I  re- 
flected, I  would  be  comparatively  safe,  and  the  feel  of 
the  revolver-butt  heartened  me  wonderfully.  So  far 
I  had  escaped  by  the  skin  of  my  teeth,  but  I  was  by  no 
means  out  of  the  wood.  .  .  .  Three  o'clock.  .  .  . 
Now  the  street  lamps  became  more  numerous.  Every 
minute  was  bringing  me  nearer  safety  and  freedom. 


CHAPTER  XXI 

PRESENTLY  we  glided  along  one  side  of  a  square, 
where  a  gang  of  workmen  were  busy  mending  the  pave- 
ment. The  car  slowed  down,  the  driver  peering  for- 
ward to  see  if  the  way  was  clear  beyond  the  knot  of 
labourers,  and  I  saw  the  outline  of  a  grimy  statue  in 
the  half-light.  I  knew  where  I  was.  With  a  hand  on 
the  door,  I  was  hesitating  whether  I  should  jump  out, 
when,  under  a  lamp-post  not  half-a-dozen  yards  away, 
a  welcome  and  inspiring  apparition  took  shape.  Never 
until  that  moment  had  I  grasped  the  true  value  and 
significance,  the  sense  of  security  symbolised  in  the 
everyday  stolid  figure  of  the  London  policeman.  He 
might  have  been  a  model  for  a  statue  of  Order  and 
Civilisation.  From  helmet  to  heel,  there  he  stood  at 
my  service.  I  could  have  fallen  on  his  beefy  neck.  I 
had  half-opened  the  door,  when  the  chauffeur  looked 
round  and  saw  me.  To  my  surprise,  he  immediately 
steered  to  the  kerb,  where  he  pulled  up  beside  the  con- 
stable. In  a  trice  I  was  outside. 

"I  want  your  help,  officer,"  said  I. 

He  ran  a  wary  eye  over  me,  and,  apparently  satis- 
fied that  I  had  not  been  having  a  "night  out,"  asked 
in  a  fruity  Cockney,  "Wot's  the  matter,  sir?" 

"I  can't  tell  you  all  just  now,  but  I  am  not  going 
to  lose  sight  of  this  man,"  I  replied,  pointing  to  the 
chauffeur. 

The  two  exchanged  glances. 

"I  think,  some'ow,  sir,  there's  bin  a  mistyke,"  said 
the  policeman. 


152  THE  SEARCHERS 

"What's  the  charge?"  asked  the  chauffeur,  civilly 
enough.  "I'm  sure  I  don't  know." 

"Mistake  !  Charge !  The  charge  is  serious  enough.  I 
have  been  kidnapped  and  ill-treated,"  I  began;  "I " 

"That  may  be  so,  sir,  but  I  have  only  your  word  for 
it,"  said  the  chauffeur  coolly.  By  this  time  a  little 
knot  of  people  had  collected  and  although  the  police- 
man, by  a  majestic  gesture,  indicated  that  there  was 
nothing  afoot  which  concerned  the  public,  its  numbers 
were  increasing. 

"I  think  some'ow,  sir,  there's  bin  a  mistyke,"  again 
came  from  the  policeman. 

"Mistake,  my  good  man!   Mistake!  Will  you " 

"If  you  don't  require  me  further,  I'll  trouble  you 
for  my  fare,"  interrupted  the  imperturbable  chauffeur. 
"I've  been  up  half  the  night." 

"Your  fare  will  no  doubt  be  all  right.  You  can 
apply  for  it  to  your  employers,"  I  rejoined,  with  con- 
siderable emphasis  on  the  last  word. 

"I  think,  some'ow,  sir,  there's  bin  a  mistyke,"  came 
from  the  policeman  with  the  inevitability  of  a  Greek 
chorus. 

"Come,  sir,  I'll  drive  you  home,  and  you  can  ar- 
range about  the  fare  then,"  said  the  chauffeur.  "I  am 
pretty  sure  I  can  convince  you  that  what  the  policeman 
says  is  right.  I  think  that  there  has  been  a  mistake. 
Where  do  you  want  to  go,  sir?"  he  asked  civilly. 

The  man's  aplomb  staggered  me,  but  I  had  no  in- 
tention of  being  "bluffed."  For  answer  I  took  my 
seat  beside  him,  at  the  same  time  whipping  out  my 
revolver. 

"Straight  to  Scotland  Yard,  if  you  please." 

The  chauffeur  stared  curiously  at  me  for  a  moment 
and  then  looked  at  the  policeman. 


THE  SEARCHERS  153 

"At  once,"  I  ordered.  "And  if  you  try  any  tricks, 
you'll  rue  it." 

His  eyes  travelled  from  mine  to  the  revolver  and 
back  again.  "Very  good,  sir  I  The  Yard. — Jump  in, 
officer.  Perhaps  this  is  the  best  plan  for  everybody," 
and  without  another  word  he  sent  the  car  skimming 
through  the  early  traffic  of  London.  The  streets  slid 
swiftly  under  us,  and  soon  we  reached  the  ever-open 
gate  of  the  Yard. 

"Come  with  me,"  I  said  peremptorily  as  I  got  out. 

"Cert'nly,  sir,"  said  the  chauffeur,  and  led  the  way. 
Before  I  could  say  a  word,  he  had  beckoned  to  a  clerk, 
wrote  a  few  words  on  a  scrap  of  paper,  and,  to  my 
astonishment,  handed  it  to  him.  The  clerk  disappeared 
with  the  message.  Almost  immediately  we  were  shown, 
into  another  room,  where  the  inspector-in-charge  was 
sitting  at  a  desk.  He  took  a  good  look  at  me,  and 
then  addressed  himself  to  the  chauffeur. 

"Good-morning !    Who  is  this  ?" 

"  'Fraid  I  don't  know.  He  demanded  to  be  brought 
here  and  as  he  was  my  fare  and  was  extr'ord'nly  press- 
ing— he  had  a  revolver — I  brought  him.  Seeing  that 
he  came  out  of  No.  9  Duff  Avenue,  I  didn't  think  twice 
about  obliging  him." 

The  inspector  looked  at  me,  and  read  mystification  in 
my  face. 

"I'll  tell  you  the  wholy  story,"  I  said  to  him;  "it 
ought  to  straighten  matters  out.  You  appear  to  know 
this  chauffeur." 

"I  know  him  very  well,"  said  the  inspector.  "But 
I  don't  know  you.  I'll  hear  both  sides — yours  first." 

He  nodded  to  the  two  men,  who  left  the  room. 

"You  may  take  it  that  the  chauffeur  won't  leave  the 
building.  May  I  ask  you  how  you  came  to  be,  as  he 
says  you  were,  at  9  Duff  Avenue  ?  Better  give  me  the 


154  THE  SEARCHERS 

bones  of  your  story  at  once.  It  will  save  time,  and  I 
have  an  idea  that  time  may  be  precious  in  this  affair." 
He  took  a  note  of  my  name  and  address,  and  I  then 
gave  him  a  rapid  summary  of  my  adventures  from  my 
entering  the  restaurant  in  Soho  until  my  arrival  at  the 
Yard.  He  listened,  plainly  much  interested. 

"This  is  extraordinary!  There  is  not  a  minute  to 
be  lost.  Without  doubting  your  word,  Mr.  Forbes, 
may  I  ask,  is  there  any  one  who  can  vouch  for  your 
identity?" 

I  thought  of  Tony,  who  had,  I  knew,  friends  in  the 
C.  I.  D. 

"Dozens,"  I  said;  "but  the  best  one  I  can  think  of 
is  Mr.  Anthony  Keene-Leslie,  whom  perhaps  you 
know." 

"I  do,  of  course.  His  name  is  one  of  the  best  you 
could  have  given  us." 

"He  has  a  telephone  in  his  bedroom,  and  I'll  risk 
awakening  him." 

Luckily,  Tony  was  at  home.  Considerably  aston- 
ished by  my  early  summons,  he  promised  to  come  to 
me  with  all  speed.  In  the  interval  I  gave  the  details 
of  my  adventure  to  the  inspector,  and  in  an  incredibly 
short  time  my  friend  arrived,  and  with  him,  to  my  sur- 
prise, the  chauffeur. 

"Hullo,  Neil! — Morning,  Mr.  Ker!"  he  greeted  us. 
"I  flung  on  some  clothes  and  did  a  record  sprint.  What 
do  you  mean  by  dragging  me  out  of  bed  at  this  hour 
of  the  morning?  What's  the  game?  Have  your 
friends  been  up  to  some  more  tricks?" 

The  inspector  rapidly  gave  him  the  heads  of  my 
story. 

"Well!  this  beats  the  band!"  said  Tony  when  he 
had  finished.  "You  have  had  a  lucky  escape.  Allow 


THE  SEARCHERS  155 

me  to  introduce  you  to  your  sometime  chauffeur,  my 
friend  Mr.  Richard  Sparke  of  the  C.  I.  D." 

I  began  to  see  daylight.  Mr.  Sparke  smiled  as  we 
shook  hands. 

"We  took  each  other  for  'wrong  uns,'  and  no  won- 
der !  I  thought  you  were  one  of  the  Duff  Avenue  lot, 
and  you  thought  the  same  of  me.  Perhaps  the  in- 
spector will  clear  up  the  situation." 

"Simple  as  A  B  C — when  you  know,"  said  Inspector 
Ker.  "We  have  had  No.  9  Duff  Avenue,  Cluden  Road, 
Northaneastham,  under  observation  for  some  time, 
but  the  trails  had  crossed  once  or  twice.  We  weren't 
dead-sure  about  the  house,  and  there  wasn't  strong 
enough  information  on  which  to  apply  for  a  search- 
warrant.  Our  men  reported  that  the  inmates  had  a 
motor-car  and  a  garage  of  their  own,  and  that  some- 
times the  house  was  visited  by  men  using  a  hired  car. 
One  of  these  we  traced  to  a  respectable  firm  of  garage- 
owners  in  Bloomsbury.  We  got  into  touch  with  them, 
and  they  arranged  to  let  us  know  when  the  next  order 
for  a  car  came.  A  'phone  message  came  from  them 
late  last  night  that  a  car  was  ordered  to  be  at  the 
house  at  two  o'clock  this  morning.  One  of  friend 
Sparke's  specialties  is  the  automobile,  and  what  he 
doesn't  know  of  motoring  and  of  London  and  its  sub- 
urban roads  and  byways  can  be  written  on  a  postage- 
stamp.  So  for  the  evening  he  was  'John  Smith,'  an  ex- 
perienced chauffeur  in  the  employment  of  the  respec- 
table firm  I  refer  to. — Now  then,  Sparke  I" 

The  versatile  Mr.  Sparke  took  up  the  tale. 

"When  I  got  there,"  said  he,  "I  was  told  that  the 
gentleman  would  be  ready  in  a  few  minutes,  that  he 
wanted  me  to  drive  in  a  hurry  to  see  a  patient — the 
game  being  that  he  was  a  doctor — and  that  he  would 
direct  me  further  when  we  neared  London.  I  waited 


.156  THE  SEARCHERS 

with  the  car  at  No.  9  for  some  ten  minutes.  Then  my 
fare — Mr.  Forbes,  it  appears,  but  in  the  dark  I  didn't 
see  his  face — came  out.  A  person  whom  I  took  to  be 
a  man-servant  showed  him  into  the  car,  shut  the  door, 
and  told  me  to  hurry.  I  set  off,  and  in  the  end  my 
fare  comes  out  of  the  car  with  a  revolver,  gets  a  police- 
man on  board,  orders  me  to  drive  here,  and  here  I 
am." 

"I  agree  with  Mr.  Keene-Leslie.  You  have,  indeed, 
made  a  lucky  escape,  Mr.  Forbes,"  said  the  inspector 
gravely.  "Your  information  comes  in  the  nick  of  time 
for  us.  What  you  say  about  the  curious  purring  noise 
at  the  house  interests  me  immensely.  I  think  that  the 
gang  won't  be  at  large  very  long,  but  they  are  wily 
customers,  and  we  may  be  too  late.  However,  we'll 
get  a  warrant  and  then  'shake  up'  No.  9.  While  we 
have  been  talking,  I  may  tell  you  that  all  the  stations 
have  been  run^  up,  and  the  house  is  being  watched. 
But  we  must  lose  no  time."  He  took  a  look  at  me. 
"Feeling  all  right?  You'll  be  the  better  for  some 
breakfast  after  your  'jumpy'  night.  It  is  early,  but 
I'll  phone  the  'Golden  Cross,'  where  I  am  known. 
You'll  get  something  to  eat  and  I'll  pick  you  up  there 
in  half-an-hour." 

On  the  way  out  I  met  the  policeman.  His  face  was 
cleft — there  is  no  other  word — by  a  smile. 

"I  think  some'ow,  sir,  there's  bin  a "  he  began. 

"So  do  I,"  I  said  and,  borrowing  from  Tony,  gave 
him  largesse. 

Rapid  explanations  by  me  to  Tony,  questions  by  him 
and  my  answers  made  the  time  speed  in  the  hotel 
where  we  breakfasted. 

"Our  little  week-end  trip  to  the  Sussex  coast  won't 
come  off,  Neil,"  said  Keene-Leslie;  "but  it  seems  we 
are  to  have,  by  way  of  compensation,  a  morning  'not 


THE  SEARCHERS  157 

without  incident,'  as  the  reporters  say.  You've  been 
lucky — extraordinarily  lucky.  I'm  convinced  that  The 
Searchers  meant  to  get  the  paper  out  of  you  at  all 
costs.  Starvation  and  solitary  confinement  will  wear 
down  steel.  It  will  be  a  tremendous  business  if  we 
find  their  half  of  the  paper  in  the  house,  but  I  doubt  it. 
They  are  much  too  wary  a  lot  to  risk  losing  their  great 
secret." 

A  big  car  pulled  up  in  half-an-hour  to  the  minute. 
Sparke  was  driving,  beside  him  a  man  in  plain  clothes; 
inside  were  the  inspector  and  the  quiet-looking  little 
gentleman  to  whom  Tony  had  introduced  me  just  be- 
fore we  started  for  Italy. 

He  recognised  me  at  once. 

"You  have  had  your  chapter  of  adventure  since  we 
met,  Mr.  Forbes,  but  I  hope  to  close  it  to-day." 

"Any  news,  sir?"  asked  Tony. 

"The  house  has  been  watched,"  said  he.  "Smoke 
is  coming  from  one  of  the  chimneys,  but  nobody  has 
been  seen." 

"Will  it  be  a 'hot  corner'?" 

"A  toss  up!  We  have  half-a-dozen  men  near  the 
place  and  perhaps  our  number  may  rattle  'em  when 
we  close  in.  I  am  inclined  to  think  that,  if  they  know 
the  house  is  surrounded,  they'll  see  the  game  is  up  and 
make  the  best  of  it;  but — perhaps  not!  Are  you 
armed?" 

Tony  nodded. 

"And  your  friend?" 

"Yes,"  I  said.  "I  took  the  liberty  of  putting  'Mr. 
Wakeford's'  revolver  into  my  pocket." 

"That's  all  right.     I  hope  we'll  be  in  time." 


CHAPTER  XXII 

IT  was  about  a  quarter  past  four  and  a  clear  morn- 
ing, with  no  traffic  in  the  streets  beyond  a  few  early 
market-carts,  when  Sparke  let  out  the  car  and  we  raced 
north-eastward  through  the  quiet  city.  In  half-an-hour 
or  so  we  drew  up  at  the  corner  of  a  road  in  a  district 
of  villas  and  prim  gardens,  outwardly  a  most  unlikely 
retreat  for  "wanted"  men.  We  got  out,  and  a  man  who 
seemed  to  appear  suddenly  from  nowhere,  took  charge 
of  the  car,  after  exchanging  a  word  or  two  with  the 
inspector.  We  walked  up  a  highly  respectable-looking 
road,  lined  with  houses  in  their  own  grounds,  of  the 
type  which  one  associates  with  prosperous  retired  city 
men. 

The  last  house  on  the  left  was  more  pretentious 
than  its  neighbours  in  style  of  building  and  surround- 
ings. It  stood  In  a  half-moon  of  ground  filled  with 
well-grown  trees,  fifty  yards  or  so  from  the  road  and 
enclosed  by  a  high  wall.  An  iron  gateway  with  a  big 
brass  figure  9  marked  the  entrance  to  the  grounds.  As 
we  neared  this  gateway  a  drowsy-looking  milkman 
came  towards  us  and  as  he  passed  said  in  a  low  voice 
to  the  inspector,  "Nothing  further,  sir,"  and  went  on 
his  way. 

"So  far,  so  good,"  said  the  inspector.  "No  one  has 
been  spotted.  Some  of  our  men  are  at  the  back,  and 
here  are  the  others."  He  nodded  towards  three  plain- 
clothes  men  converging  on  us,  and  I  noticed  a  police- 
man in  the  distance  at  the  end  of  the  road.  "The  place 

158 


THE  SEARCHERS  159 

looks  quiet  from  the  outside,  but  it  may  be  a  live  shell 
to  tackle.  Look  out,  and  keep  beside  me." 

A  peep  through  the  gate  showed  a  gravelled  avenue, 
circling  a  clump  of  rhododendrons,  the  shuttered  win- 
dows of  a  large  house,  and  five  steps  leading  to  the 
front  door.  Sparke  went  at  once  to  the  gate  and  tried 
it.  It  was  locked,  but  one  of  the  men  promptly  pro- 
duced a  light  bunch  of  keys,  and  in  a  few  seconds  we 
were  in  the  grounds.  Here  the  party  split  into  two. 

Sparke  and  I  approached  the  house  quickly  and 
quietly  by  the  path  on  the  right.  A  tiny  feather  of 
smoke  came  from  one  chimney,  but  there  was  no  other 
sign  of  life.  Two  of  the  men  placed  themselves  by  the 
windows  on  each  side  of  the  door,  and  Sparke  pressed 
the  button  of  the  bell.  The  shrill  note  died  away,  but 
there  was  no  reply.  Three  times  this  was  repeated. 
Not  a  sound  came  from  the  house.  At  a  word  from 
the  inspector  one  of  the  men  went  round  to  the  back, 
where  two  others  were  posted,  and  returned  to  report 
that  no  reply  had  been  given  to  the  ringing  of  the  bell 
there. 

"Come  along,  then!  We  have  no  time  to  waste. 
Have  a  try,"  said  he  to  the  man  with  the  keys,  who 
bent  to  the  lock.  After  a  long  minute  he  stood  up  and 
whispered,  "All  right." 

"Stand  back  and  look  out,"  the  inspector  said. 

With  revolvers  ready,  we  took  places  on  either  side, 
clear  of  the  door.  The  inspector  turned  the  handle 
gently,  suddenly  flung  the  door  wide  and  jumped  back. 
I  listened  (my  heart,  I  confess,  was  beating  uncom- 
fortably), but  neither  voice  nor  footstep  sounded. 
With  a  nod  to  us  to  follow,  the  inspector  entered  and 
we  found  ourselves  in  the  hall.  With  a  shiver  I  rec- 
ognised the  alcove,  the  telephone,  and  the  marble  stat- 
uette in  the  corner. 


160  THE  SEARCHERS  - 

"Flown,  I'm  afraid!  See!"  said  the  inspector,  look- 
ing round  the  hall. 

On  the  carpet  was  an  old  packing-box  and  a  litter  of 
papers,  pieces  of  string,  straw,  and  some  articles  of 
men's  clothing  thrown  down  anyhow.  A  chair  which 
had  been  knocked  over  lay  as  it  had  fallen.  The  whole 
scene  told  us  plainly  of  an  extremity  of  haste. 

While  we  were  looking  one  of  the  men  came  from 
the  back  with  the  news  that  the  garage  was  empty. 

The  inspector  shook  his  head.  "They  have  cleared, 
I  think;  but  they  can't  be  far  away.  We'll  have  a  look 
at  the  room  where  you  'knocked  out'  the  leader,"  said 
he,  and  I  led  the  way  along  the  corridor.  The  door 
had  been  burst  open  from  the  outside.  We  peered  cau- 
tiously in.  The  light  was  switched  on,  revealing  the 
room  to  be  in  the  same  state  as  when  I  had  last  seen 
it,  except  for  a  dark  stain  on  the  floor  where  I  had  left 
my  captor  lying  unconscious.  Of  "Wakeford"  himself 
there  was  no  other  trace.  The  shutters  were  still 
barred  and  padlocked.  Back  we  went  to  the  hall  and 
having  divided  into  two  parties,  searched  all  the  rooms 
on  the  ground-floor,  but  found  nobody.  Upstairs  we 
found  the  rooms  scantily  furnished  and  uncarpeted, 
except  one  of  the  bedrooms,  which  looked  comfortable 
and  attractive.  It  was  probably  Benedetto's.  Again 
we  drew  blank.  All  the  upstairs  rooms  and  the  attics 
were  empty. 

A  tap  came  to  the  door  while  we  were  searching 
one  of  the  attics  and  one  of  our  men  came  in.  "No- 
body in  the  rooms  or  the  cellars  in  the  basement,"  said 
he;  "but  we  are  puzzled  about  the  smoke  from  the 
chimney.  We  can't  find  a  fire  anywhere." 

Downstairs,  we  explored  the  kitchen  and  the  accom- 
modation rooms,  pantries,  sculleries,  and  so  forth;  but, 


THE  SEARCHERS  161 

like  the  other  rooms  we  had  visited,  they  were  empty, 
and  no  fire  was  burning  in  them. 

"Better  take  the  bearings  once  more  of  the  chim- 
ney where  the  smoke  is  coming  from,"  said  the  in- 
spector. 

We  retraced  our  steps  and  went  out  to  the  grounds. 
The  tiny  curl  of  smoke  came  from  one  of  the  chim- 
neys at  the  back.  It  was  clear  that  a  fire  was  burning 
somewhere  inside  the  sinister  house.  We  returned  and 
for  half-an-hour  searched  every  nook  and  corner  thor- 
oughly, with  no  result. 

In  the  basement  I  had  lagged  behind  the  others  in 
a  flagged  passage  and  was  looking  about  me,  completely 
puzzled,  when  I  thought  I  heard  a  slight  sound.  It 
seemed  to  me  to  be  near  at  hand,  and  I  cannot  describe 
it  better  than  by  saying  that  I  fancied  it  to  be  the  faint 
mewing  of  a  cat.  I  stood  quite  still  and  listened.  A 
minute  passed,  and  I  had  almost  concluded  that  my 
nerves  had  played  me  a  trick,  when  the  sound  reached 
me  again,  but  where  it  came  from — below,  above  me, 
in  front  or  behind — I  had  not  the  vaguest  idea.  A 
shout  summoned  the  others  and  I  old  them  what  I  had 
heard. 

The  passage  in  which  we  were  standing  was  stone- 
walled and  strongly  built,  with  no  door  breaking  its 
masonry.  The  inspector  examined  the  stonework, 
tapped  it  all  over  with  an  iron-shod  walking-stick,  and 
tested  the  plaster  in  the  interstices.  The  wall  was  of 
genuine,  solid  workmanship.  No  chink  or  crevice  ap- 
peared in  the  hard  cement. 

There  remained  the  floor.  The  two  Scotland  Yard 
men  peered  over  the  stone  flags,  scrutinising  each  one 
carefully.  Suddenly  the  inspector  went  down  on  his 
knees  at  the  end  of  the  passage  and  putting  his  ear  close 
to  the  flagstone,  listened  intently.  Then  he  stood  up 


1 62  THE  SEARCHERS 

and  having  motioned  us  tojteep  where  we  were,  walked 
slowly  down  the  corridor,  tapping  each  flagstone  with 
the  stick  as  he  went.  The  last  one  rang  hollow.  A 
triumphant  "Ah !"  came  from  him,  and  his  face  relaxed 
in  a  grim  smile.  He  again  struck  the  flagstone,  and 
afterwards  the  stone  next  to  it.  The  difference  was 
marked.  One  gave  a  dull,  solid  thud,  the  other  a  ring 
that  hummed  and  died  away,  almost  metallic  in  its 
effect.  As  we  stood  listening  to  its  sound  trailing  into 
silence,  the  cry  which  I  had  heard  reached  me  again, 
this  time  in  a  high  note,  broken  off  abruptly.  There 
was  now  no  doubt.  It  came  from  below  and  was  the 
voice  of  some  creature  in  extremity.  Sparke  and  the 
inspector  bent  over  the  hollow  flagstone.  Sparke 
brushed  the  stone  with  a  handkerchief  and  ran  his 
electric  torch  round  the  edges.  A  tiny  circular  de- 
pression, full  of  dust  and  not  much  bigger  than  a  three- 
penny-piece, was  revealed.  He  whipped  out  a  knife 
and  used  it,  whereupon  the  stone  moved  a  little.  The 
handy  man  with  the  keys  produced  a  chisel  and  in  a 
couple  of  minutes  the  flagstone  opened  up  as  easily  as 
a  trap-door. 

"Now,"  said  the  inspector,  "we'll  see  what  we'll 
»ee!" 

He  flashed  the  electric  torch  into  the  opening,  dis- 
closing the  steps  of  a  rough  wooden  ladder  leading 
down  into  the  gloom.  Then  he  lowered  himself  into 
the  dark  hole  and  we  followed.  As  I  reached  the  last 
rung  of  the  ladder  the  voice  sounded  once  more,  close 
at  hand  and  in  pitiful  entreaty.  We  found  ourselves 
in  a  cramped,  narrow  passage  about  six  feet  long,  hav- 
ing a  door  on  the  left.  This  proved  to  be  locked,  but 
it  was  a  flimsy  affair,  and  two  vigorous  kicks  sent  it 
nearly  off  its  hinges.  The  room  which  we  entered  was 
pitch-dark,  except  for  the  dying  embers  of  the  tell- 


THE  SEARCHERS  163 

tale  fire.  Sparke  flashed  the  electric  torch  and  in  the 
gloom  I  saw  a  figure  lying  on  a  couch  at  the  opposite 
side  of  the  room.  The  inspector  stepped  forward 
and  bent  over  him,  the  man  staring  up  without  saying 
a  word.  I  shrank  from  the  sight.  I  have  never  seen 
such  horrible  shaking  fear  in  a  human  face.  He  was 
young,  but  woefully  wasted  and  of  a  ghastly  pallor — 
the  mere  shadow  of  a  man — and  his  big  dark  eyes,  full 
of  terror,  burned  in  their  hollows  with  an  unnatural 
and  shocking  brightness. 

"Whoever  he  is,  the  poor  devil  is  pretty  far  gone," 
said  the  inspector,  and  at  the  words  the  man  half-rose 
on  one  elbow  and  fell  back  in  a  dead  faint. 


CHAPTER  XXIII 

A  FLASK  was  produced,  and  some  brandy  poured 
down  the  unconscious  man's  throat.  He  took  so  long 
to  recover  that  I  thought  he  was  dead,  but  at  last  he 
opened  his  eyes  and  followed  the  movements  of  the 
men  who  were  examining  the  room.  There  was  little 
furnishing  beyond  the  couch,  a  chair,  and  a  deal  table, 
on  which  were  a  dirty  plate  and  a  couple  of  empty 
fiascos.  One  corner  of  the  room  was  curtained  off. 
The  inspector  went  behind  the  curtain  and  in  a  minute 
or  two  flung  it  back  and  pointed  exultantly  at  some- 
thing. 

"A  good  morning's  work,  after  all!  This  explains 
the  queer  purring  noise  you  heard  during  the  night. 
It  was  from  the  dynamo  of  this  neat  little  electrotyping- 
machine.  The  room  has  turned  out  Heaven  knows 
how  many  'little  pictures,'  most  skilfully  forged  notes 
of  two  of  the  principal  Italian  banks.  We  have  had 
more  trouble  over  these  fellows  than  any  'crooks'  I 
remember  for  years.  We'll  see  what  this  chap  has  to 
say,  but  I  wish  we  had  arrived  an  hour  sooner.  I've 
missed  the  chance  of  my  life."  He  sighed.  "What 
a  haul  we  might  have  had!" 

Criminal  or  no,  the  man  on  the  couch  roused  my 
pity.  There  was  tragedy  and  hopelessness  in  his  young 
eyes,  and  his  face,  despite  its  emaciation,  showed  re- 
markably clever  lines.  He  began  to  tremble  when  the 
inspector  went  back  to  him. 

"You  will  come  to  no  harm,"  said  the  officer  re- 

164 


THE  SEARCHERS  165 

assuringly,  as  he  despatched  one  of  the  men  for  the 
nearest  doctor. 

The  man  shook  his  head.  "Nossignore"  he  whis- 
pered with  difficulty.  "Troppo  tardif  Too  late!  A 
priest,  per  I'amore  di  Dio,  but  no  doctor!  Send  for 
a  priest.  Quickly,  I  beg  you." 

uBut  you  will  get  better,  never  fear."  It  was  a  kind 
lie,  for  the  marks  of  death  were  on  the  poor  wretch. 
"You  were  afraid  when  we  came  in." 

"Madonna!  Si!  But  save  me  from  Guidotti. 
.  .  .  E  un  diavolo.  .  .  .  You  will  protect  me?  You 
are  English?" 

The  words  were  gasped  out  between  dry  sobs,  and 
his  thin  hand  caught  mine  convulsively. 

"We  are  the  police." 

A  look  of  intense  relief  appeared  on  his  face.  "I 
will  tell  you  all — everything.  I  keep  nothing  back.  I 
swear  it  by  the  blessed  Virgin.  You  wish  to  know 
about  .  .  .  i  quadretti?"  jtie  nodded  towards  the 
printing  plant  in  the  corner  of  the  room. 

"Yes,  yes,"  said  the  inspector,  sitting  down  beside 
him.  "  'The  little  pictures.'  I  understand." 

"If  I  tell  you  everything — if  I  live  a  little  longer — 
will  you  take  me  away  from  here — away  from  these 
men?" 

Readily  promised  protection,  he  began  his  unhappy 
story.  His  broken  English  need  not  be  reproduced. 
His  voice  was  weak  and  his  story  was  frequently  in- 
terrupted by  fits  of  coughing,  but  its  main  points  were 
clear. 

His  name  was  Luigi  Conti.  He  had  been  an  en- 
graver in  Naples.  His  work  was  esteemed  there  and 
he  had  received  very  good  pay  and  was  happy  until, 
as  it  chanced,  he  became  interested  in  a  development 
of  Lessano's  process  for  copper  etching.  At  this  he 


1 66  THE  SEARCHERS 

toiled  day  and  night,  scarcely  giving  himself  time  for 
meals.  His  eyes  failed  him.  The  doctor  ordered  him 
to  rest.  He  was  in  despair,  but  what  could  he  do? 
Per  Crist o!  he  had  a  wife  and  two  little  children.  To 
be  poor  was  bad,  but  to  lose  one's  eyes — he  could  not 
face  that.  It  was  a  long  time  before  he  was  allowed 
to  work  even  for  two  Hours  a  day.  By  that  time  his 
pockets  were  empty,  and  his  employers,  who  had  pre- 
viously exploited  his  skill,  refused  to  give  him  employ- 
ment. Full  of  revenge,  he  went  to  the  Camorra. 

"You .know  the  Camorra?  It  is  all-powerful,  and 
•often  does  justice  to  the  poor.  The  law  and  the  police 
fear  it,  but  I  know  now  that  the  great  ones  to  whom 
I  went  did  not  concern  themselves  about  my  employers. 
They  were  of  the  Camorra,  it  is  true;  but  those  who 
bribed  me  were  /  Frugatori — 'The  Searchers.'  It  was 
I  whom  they  wanted.  They  knew  my  skill  in  engrav- 
ing, for  I  had  told  them  my  story,  and  they  gave  me 
money  and  the  promise  of  more." 

Between  his  fits  of  breathlessness  he  unfolded  his 
little  tragedy:  how  the  meshes  gradually  closed  on  him, 
and  how  in  the  end,  after  the  promise  of  as  much 
money  for  a  month's  work  as  he  could  make  all  his 
life  at  his  craft,  he  joined  "The  Searchers,"  and  helped 
them  to  make  "the  little  pictures."  The  work  would 
be  light,  a  few  hours  a  day,  and  it  would  not  injure 
his  eyes,  so  they  assured  him. 

"I  came — maledizionef — to  London  with  them 
about  six  months  ago.  By  night  I  was  taken  to  this 
house,  and  I  have  not  been  out  more  than  half-a-dozen 
times  since.  I  did  the  finer  work  on  the  little  pictures, 
and  Domenico  Fiatro,  a  printer,  did  the  rest.  Biton 
cuore  .  .  .  Domenico  ...  a  good  heart  .  .  .  ma 
...  a  mechanic  merely.  At  first  I  took  a  pride  in  the 
work — a  pleasure  in  my  skill — but  soon  I  became  very 


THE  SEARCHERS  167 

ill,  and  for  a  time  could  not  rise.  I  made  many  thou- 
sands of  the  bank-notes,  and  Guidotti  and  the  others 
made  much  money  out  of  them.  Yet  they  made  me 
work  to  the  last  moment." 

"Who  are  'they'?     Describe  them." 

"Guidotti  and  Benedetto  are  the  leaders.*' 

"What  are  they  like?" 

"Benedetto  was  once  a  priest,  but  was  unfrocked — 
un  prete  spretatp;  a  great  broad  man,  clean  shaven, 
and  with  a  deep  voice  .  .  .  profondissimo!" 

My  friend  of  the  Naples  train,  beyond  a  doubt.  I 
listened  eagerly  for  his  next  words. 

"Guidotti  is  the  leader.  Benedetto  is  afraid  of  him. 
He  is  tall  and  slight — e  molto  gran'  signore — and  has  a 
pointed  black  beard,  but  sometimes  he  is  clean-shaven. 
Then  there  are  Berni  and  Nazzano,  two  men  who 
could  drive  the  car ;  and  there  was  Antonio  Salvi.  Poor 
Antonio!  Guidotti  is  half  an  Englishman,  but  has 
lived  in  Italy  a  great  deal.  You  know  our  saying — 
'Un  Inglese  italianizzato  e  il  diavolo  incarnate/'  ('An 
Englishman  Italianised  is  the  Devil  Incarnate  I' )? 
Then  there  was  the  Englishman  Royce,  he  of  the  red 
hair.  He  was  kind  to  me.  Royce  broke  away  from 
them,  and  soon  afterwards  Salvi  also  disappeared. 
Guidotti  and  Benedetto  have  been  trying  to  hunt  Royce 
down  ever  since,  for  he  has  something  belonging  to 
them,  although  I  do  not  know  what  it  is.  They  very 
nearly  caught  him  in  Edinburgh.  It  was  well  for  him 
that  they  did  not.  They  would  have" — he  shuddered, 
and  told  us  of  a  nameless  mediaeval  torture — "they 
would  have  killed  him  by  inches.  At  the  time  when 
they  nearly  captured  Royce,  they  killed  poor  Antonio. 
He  was  found  stabbed  to  death  somewhere  in  Edin- 
burgh." 

Tony  and  I  exchanged  looks.     The  red-haired  im- 


1 68  THE  SEARCHERS 

poster  "M'Nair,"  the  man  whom  I  took  into  my  rooms 
on  the  night  of  the  fog,  was  none  other  than  Royce, 
of  "The  Searchers."  The  murdered  Italian  whom  I 
had  seen  in  the  police  mortuary  in  Edinburgh  had  been 
his  accomplice. 

"If  they  come  back  here  they  will  kill  me  too,"  said 
Conti. 

"The  house  is  empty,  and  we  shall  leave  the  police 
in  charge.  Do  you  know  where  Benedetto  and  the 
others  hide  in  London?"  asked  the  inspector. 

"Corpo  di  Cristof  I  do  not  know  and  I  never  did 
know  where  'The  Searchers'  hide.  I  have  never  been 
in  any  house  in  England  except  this.  Early  this  morn- 
ing Guidotti  and  Benedetto  came  down  in  a  great  hurry 
and  looked  at  me.  They  stood  in  the  passage  and 
talked,  and  I  heard  Guidotti  curse  and  say  that  it 
would  be  better  to  finish  me,  but  Benedetto  would  not 
agree.  He  is  not  cruel  at  heart,  old  Benedetto.  In 
the  end  they  came  in  and  stamped  out  the  fire,  and 
told  me  that  they  were  going  away;  that  there  was 
food,  left  for  me ;  that  if  I  kept  quiet  I  should  not  be 
discovered;  and  that  they  would  come  back  for  me. 
.  .  .  But  I  knew  that  I  had  not  long  to  live.  ...  I 
managed  to  rise  and  put  some  faggots  on  the  fire." 

"You  spoke  of  'The  Searchers.'  ' 

"Si!  Si!  'The  Searchers'  are  very  old — hundreds 
of  years  old.  Long  ago  they  began  to  search  for  some- 
thing. For  a  long  time  they  gave  it  up,  but  their  oath 
is  still  to  search  for  something  lost;  and  although  they 
joined  the  Camorra,  they  still  keep  the  name  of  'The 
Searchers,'  and  have  their  own  rules,  and  a  terrible 
punishment  for  any  traditore" 

Those  were  his  last  coherent  words.  He  grew  rap- 
idly weaker  and  soon  was  unconscious.  The  doctor 
arrived  just  in  time  to  see  the  poor  wretch  die. 


THE  SEARCHERS  169 

Two  of  the  men  were  put  in  charge,  and  we  motored 
back  to  London,  confident  that  the  gang  would  soon 
be  tracked  down.  Keene-Leslie  and  I  kept  in  constant 
touch  with  the  police.  Twice  Scotland  Yard  thought 
it  was  on  a  hot  scent,  but  in  the  end  had  to  admit  de- 
feat. The  gang  had  gone  to  ground. 

I  waited  for  ten  days  in  London,  and  then  returned 
to  Edinburgh  and  the  quiet  of  my  quarters  in  Jura 
Street.  But  the  roar  of  London  sounded  in  my  ears 
for  days;  more  than  once  I  dreamed  of  No.  9  Duff 
Avenue ;  and  my  eyes  often  scanned  the  crowds  for  the 
lithe  figure  of  Guidotti,  the  leader  of  "The  Searchers," 
and  Benedetto,  his  adroit  second-in-command. 


CHAPTER  XXIV 

JUNE  drew  near.  May  had  been  as  capricious  as  a 
pretty  woman,  but  the  sun  had  now  come  North.  Sum- 
mer was  in  the  air.  Steady  sunshine  bathed  the  grey 
battlements  of  the  Castle  and  the  roofs  of  the  Old 
Town  and  the  green  heart  of  Edinburgh  was  starred 
with  vivid  flowers.  Even  the  statues  and  the  ugliest 
band-stand  in  Europe  could  not  spoil  the  prospect. 

It  was  the  last  Monday  in  May — a  "blank  day"  in 
the  Courts.  I  had  been,  for  a  six  hours'  tramp  over 
the  Pentlands  and  in  the  afternoon  I  was  making  my 
way  along  Princes  Street,  duly  impressed  by  the  pro- 
cession of  the  comely  daughters  of  Edinburgh  in  hon- 
our of  The  Summer  Frock.  I  had  received  a  note  from 
Keene-Leslie,  who  was  living  at  a  remote  fishing  hotel 
in  Ross-shire.  It  ran  thus:  "I  am  here  for  a  week, 
away  from  hot  pavements.  I  wish  you  would  hurry 
up  Stronach,  the  fishing-tackle  dealer  at  the  West  End, 
about  some  trout-flies  I  ordered.  Like  a  good  chap, 
see  that  I  get  them  soon,  or  I  am  undone.  Weather 
obliging;  trout  the  reverse. 

"I  have  some  most  interesting  information  concern- 
ing the  Duff  Avenue  gang.  I  shall  look  you  up  in  Edin- 
burgh on  my  way  South  in  about  a  week." 

I  was  now  sauntering  westward  to  execute  his  com- 
mission. 

It  is  doubtless  one  of  the  advantages  of  a  "single- 
street"  town  that  you  are  pretty  sure  of  meeting  some 
of  your  acquaintances  in  its  main  artery.  But  it  has 
its  drawbacks.  You  may  stumble  across  the  last  man 

170 


THE  SEARCHERS  171 

or  woman  whom  you  wish  to  see.  Soon  I  had  bitter 
cause  for  murmuring  the  sacrilegious  rendering  by  a 
jocund  modern  scribe  of  our  national  bard's  couplet: 

"O,  wad  some  Pow'r  the  giftie  gie  us 
To  see  our  freens  afore  they  see  us!" 

I  beheld,  about  twenty  yards  away,  coming  towards 
me,  the  figure  of  an  acquaintance  known  as  "The 
Rasp,"  an  ominous  subtitle  handsomely  earned  by  the 
possession  of  a  voice  like  the  tearing  of  calico  and  a 
well-nigh  perfect  genius  for  saying  the  things  one  does 
not  wish  to  hear.  His  stones  are  either  "chestnuts" 
or  pointless.  He  purveys  good  news  about  people 
whom  you  dislike  and  evil  tidings  of  your  friends.  He 
never  quarrels  with  anybody,  and  has  no  friends.  He 
means  well.  Curse  him  and  his  breed!  Most  people 
have  a  bete  noire,  and  "The  Rasp"  is  mine. 

In  the  succinct  American,  he  "saw  me  coming."  Es- 
cape, except  by  instant  and  undignified  flight,  was  im- 
possible. He  had  marked  me  for  his  own  and  bore 
down  upon  me  like  the  Assyrian  wolf.  First  he  in- 
quired about  my  health  and  before  I  could  reply,  men- 
tioned kindly  that  he  thought  I  was  getting  too  stout. 
I  am  only  twelve-stun'-three.  I  felt  inclined  to  break 
him  over  my  knee,  but  men  of  his  type  never  see  the 
murder  in  their  victim's  eyes.  He  went  on  to  spoil  a 
good  story  in  the  telling  of  it,  making  it  a  cause  for 
tears  instead  of  joy,  and  when  I  did  not  laugh,  he  tact- 
fully suggested  that  "of  course,  it  wants  a  bit  of 
seeing." 

Then  he  told  me  of  the  engagement  of  a  pretty  girl 
whom  I  know  (and  who  waltzes  divinely)  to  a  little 
bounder  with  Whitehall  spectacles  and  a  stutter.  He 
pointed  out  a  man  who  was  passing  and  informed  me 


i72  THE  SEARCHERS 

in  a  reverential  whisper  that  he  owned. three  Rolls- 
Royces!  "An  awfully  rich  chap,"  he  said.  He  said 
this  twice.  He  also  told  me  he  didn't  like  the  colour 
of  my  waistcoat. 

"I  must  be  off,"  I  ventured;  "I'm — I'm  rather  in  a 
hurry." 

"You  didn't  look  like  it  when  I  met  you,"  he  re- 
marked. 

"No,"  I  said,  goaded  into  savage  reprisals;  "I 
wasn't,  but  I  am  now." 

The  shaft  glanced  harmlessly  off  his  rhinoceros  hide. 

"Well,"  he  said,  "I  have  nothing  to  do,  so  I'll  stroll 
along  with  you."  The  complacent  ass  then  took  my 
arm;  and  feeling  like  a  chapter  in  Foxe's  Book  of  Mar- 
tyrs, I  swallowed  an  imprecation  and  bowed  to  Destiny. 

But  mark  the  law  of  compensation  in  all  things. 
Had  I  not  met  him  I  should  not  have  heard  so  promptly 
about  a  telephone  message  to  me  at  the  club.  When 
we  were  passing  it  he  said,  "By  the  way,  I  forgot  to 
tell  you.  I  happened  to  hear  the  porter  telling  some 
one  over  the  'phone  that  you  weren't  in." 

"Thanks.  Goodbye,"  I  said  firmly  and  dived  into 
the  hall.  There  I  found  a  message  (probably  my 
landlady  had  sent  it  from  a  telephone-call  office)  that 
a  telegram  awaited  me  at  my  rooms. 

I  hastened  to  Jura  Street.  The  little  drab  en- 
velope's contents  ran:  "Burglary  at  The  Bield.  Col- 
onel in  grave  danger."  I  sent  off  a  telegram  to  Tony 
in  Ross-shire,  asking  him  to  meet  me  with  all  speed 
at  The  Bield,  and  caught  the  night  train  for  the  North, 
a  prey  to  the  blackest  forebodings. 

The  long  night  journey  to  The  Bield  frayed  my 
nerves.  Haunted  by  disquiet,  I  could  not  sleep,  and 
as  it  was  too  dark  to  read,  I  spent  the  hours  in  dis- 
mal wakefulness,  hoping  against  hope  that  my  fears 


THE  SEARCHERS  173 

would  not  be  justified.  But  the  more  I  thought,  the 
deeper  grew  my  anxiety.  There  I  sat  alone  in  my  ill- 
lit  compartment,  wide-eyed  and  depressed,  the  train's 
monotonous  rumble  spinning  a  gloomy  undernote  to 
my  thoughts.  The  slow  hours  passed  and  at  last  the 
deep  flush  of  the  dawn  stole  over  the  hills.  By  the 
time  we  reached  the  Summit  the  hills  were  clear  of 
shadows;  Loch  Garry  gleamed  like  a  silver  shield;  a 
fairer  morning  never  welcomed  me  to  my  "ain  coun- 
trie."  But  with  it  came  one  of  the  bitterest  moments 
of  my  life.  Dr.  Hall  was  on  the  platform  of  the  little 
station  in  the  Glen  and  my  first  glance  at  his  pale,  grave 
face  told  me  that  my  uncle  was  dead. 

"Two  hours  ago,  peacefully,"  the  doctor  said,  in 
reply  to  the  question  in  my  eyes.  "On  Sunday  night 
I  left  him  about  half-past  ten  in  excellent  health  and 
spirits  and  in  the  small  hours  of  Monday  morning  I 
was  sent  for.  I  have  a  strange  story  to  tell  you — the 
strangest  I  have  known  in  my  experience." 

"Not  foul  play?" 

"Not  in  the  sense  of  murder.  Your  uncle  died  of 
heart-failure  after  a  great  shock,  and  might  have  been 
found  dead  yesterday  morning  but  for  the  accident  of 
old  Janet  having  been  wakened  by  the  wind  banging 
a  door.  She  rose  to  shut  it,  and  happened  to  notice  a 
light  burning  in  the  colonel's  sanctum.  As  it  was  close 
on  one  o'clock  in  the  morning,  she  went  to  his  room 
and  there  she  found  him,  face  downwards  on  the  floor, 
unable  to  speak  or  move,  and  obviously  desperately  ill. 
At  once  she  sent  one  of  the  maids  for  me.  Luckily, 
I  had  just  come  in  from  a  night  visit  to  a  shepherd's 
house  down  the  Glen,  and  I  was  at  The  Bield  in  ten 
minutes.  But  you  must  hasten.  I  have  my  car  here. 
The  police  authorities  will  return  in  an  hour,  and  the 


174  THE  SEARCHERS 

i 
sooner  you  are  at  the  house  the  better.     I'll  give  you 

the  main  facts  as  we  go." 

We  hurried  to  the  car  and  as  we  skimmed  along  the 
doctor  continued:  "A  couple  of  hours  after  I  reached 
the  house  on  Monday  morning,  the  colonel  rallied,  and 
I  was  able  to  patch  his  story  together.  The  central 
fact  is  that  a  man  answering  to  the  description  of  the 
prowler  of  whom  the  colonel  told  us,  entered  his  room 
and  terrorised  him.  The  hour  is  uncertain,  but  it  was 
probably  about  midnight  on  Sunday.  That  was  the 
Colonel's  own  impression.  Your  uncle's  story  was  so 
startling  that  I  telephoned  the  police  authorities  at 
once,  and  also  took  the  precaution  of  locking  up  his 
room  and  leaving  things  exactly  as  they  were,  un- 
touched. The  police  motored  to  The  Bield,  and  ar- 
rived about  five  o'clock  in  the  morning.  The  colonel 
was  then  very  low,  and  I  advised  that  his  evidence 
should  be  taken.  The  inspector  telephoned  to  the 
Crown  officials,  who  came  in  the  early  forenoon  and 
took  the  colonel's  sworn  statement.  It  is  unsigned, 
as  he  was  too  weak  to  lift  a  hand;  but  it  was,  of  course, 
given  before  witnesses,  and  I  understand  that  is  all 
that  is  necessary.  I  got  Dr.  Robertson  from  Castle- 
ton — the  best  man  I  know — to  come  yesterday  after- 
noon, but  when  he  arrived  he  could  do  nothing  except 
agree  with  my  treatment  and  my  view  of  the  case. 
There  was  little  hope  from  the  beginning,  I  am  deeply 
sorry  to  say.  .  .  .  I'm  about  done  up.  I  have  only 
had  an  hour  or  so  of  sleep  for  the  last  forty-eight 
hours." 

The  road  to  The  Bield  brought  a  rush  of  memories; 
beyond  a  few  conventional  words  of  thanks  to  the 
doctor,  I  was  unable  to  speak.  Soon  the  car  glided 
up  the  avenue.  Angus  was  at  the  door,  and  the  old 
man's  eyes  filled  as  I  took  his  big,  rough  hand  and 


THE  SEARCHERS  175 

passed  from  the  radiant  morning  into  the  silent  house. 
The  doctor  came  with  me  into  the  hall,  where  he  gave 
me  the  copy  of  my  uncle's  statement. 

"You  will  perhaps  wish  to  be  alone,"  he  said,  "and 
I  can  be  of  little  use  just  now." 

"You  are  in  want  of  sleep,  doctor,"  I  said;  and, 
indeed,  his  face  had  all  the  signs  of  a  tired  man.  "Will 
you  rest  here?" 

"Many  thanks.  I  must  return  to  the  surgery.  I'll 
soon  fall  asleep,  I  assure  you;  but  I  must  be  at  home, 
as  I  have  one  or  two  cases  which  I  am  anxious  about, 
and  I  have  no  assistant.  I'll  come  up  as  soon  as  I  can. 
By  that  time  you  will  have  thought  over  the  statement, 
and  I  am  anxious  to  hear  your  views  on  the  subject. 
But  it  seems  clear  to  me  that  the  watcher  laid  his 
devilish  plans  too  well." 

The  colonel's  deathbed  statement  or  "deposition," 
as  it  is  called,  amazed  me.  Given,  in  presence  of  the 
Sheriff-Substitute,  the  Procurator-Fiscal,  the  Public 
Prosecutor  and  the  Clerk  of  Court  for  the  County,  it 
was  dated  at  The  Bield  and  signed  by  those  officials  in 
presence  of  the  "deponent."  Here  it  is: 

"I  am  Colonel  Ewan  Forbes  of  Glen  Ciuin.  On  the 
evening  of  Sunday  last  I  finished  dinner  about  8.15, 
and  afterwards  went  to  my  smoking-room.  There  I 
sat  reading  until  nine  o'clock,  when  Dr.  Hall,  who  is 
my  medical  man,  called.  I  was  in  my  usual  health  and 
the  doctor's  visit  was  not  a  professional  one,  but  in 
response  to  an  invitation  to  smoke  a  cigar  with  me. 
He  left  about  10.30.  Immediately  afterwards  my 
housekeeper,  Janet  Blair,  came  with  the  keys.  This 
was  at  her  usual  hour.  I  resumed  my  reading,  but  be- 
came a  little  drowsy.  I  cannot  say  that  I  fell  asleep. 
The  next  thing  I  remember  is  that  the  door  of  my  room 
was  suddenly  opened  and  a  man  came  in  and  instantly 


covered  me  with  a  revolver.  I  could  neither  speak 
nor  move,  but  I  was  quite  conscious  of  what  happened. 
The  man  closed  the  door,  and  having  locked  it,  came 
into  the  middle  of  the  room,  still  covering  me  with  the 
revolver.  He  was  over  medium  height,  with  a  dark 
pointed  beard.  He  wore  a  slouch-hat,  and  was  dressed 
in  rough  brown  tweeds.  He  did  not  speak — at  least, 
I  heard  nothing — but  keeping  in  the  shadow  behind 
the  lamp,  he  stood  watching  me  for  a  little.  I  tried 
to  get  up  from  my  chair  and  to  shout  for  help,  but  I 
felt  very  weak  and  giddy,  and  could  neither  utter  a 
word  nor  lift  a  finger.  He  then  rifled  my  pockets,  and 
having  found  my  keys,  went  straight  to  the  dummy 
row  of  books  which  masks  the  little  safe  where  I  keep 
a  number  of  private  papers.  He  slid  the  imitation 
books  aside,  and  having  opened  the  safe  with  my  key, 
took  out  all  the  papers  from  inside  it  and  put  them 
in  his  pocket.  This  done,  he  began  to  search  the  safe 
a  second  time.  While  he  was  doing  this  I  must  have 
swooned.  I  remember  nothing  more.  I  think  that 
it  must  have  been  about  midnight  when  the  man  ap- 
peared, but  I  cannot  say  so  definitely. 

"I  am  sure  that  he  is  the  same  person  whom  I  saw 
thrice  near  The  Bield,  the  last  time  outside  the  win- 
dow of  my  room  late  at  night.  My  nephew  Neil 
Forbes  and  Dr.  Hall  know  the  particulars  of  my  hav- 
ing seen  this  person  before.  I  told  them  about  it.  The 
man  is  a  complete  stranger  to  me."  (Here  follows 
a  note  by  the  witnesses  that  the  deponent  was  unable, 
through  bodily  weakness,  to  say  more  or  to  sign  his 
statement.  They  then  signed  as  witnesses  to  the  cor- 
rectness of  the  deposition.) 

I  read  the  extraordinary  statement  over  and  over 
again.  It  was  clear  enough — too  clear  in  its  story  of 
well-nigh  incredible  daring  and  cunning.  I  rebuilt  the 


THE  SEARCHERS  177 

scene:  the  old  man  alone,  the  stealthy  entrance,  my 
uncle's  sudden  heart-failure,  and  the  cool  scoundrel 
hunting  for  the  paper.  The  paper!  Had  "The 
Searcher"  got  it?  I  had  counselled  my  uncle  to  secrete 
it,  and  the  little  masked  safe  was  in  all  likelihood  the 
place  he  would  have  chosen  as  its  hiding-place. 


CHAPTER  XXV 

MUCH  perturbed  by  the  thought,  I  was  making  a 
pretense  of  breakfasting,  when  the  sound  of  voices 
from  the  hall  reached  me,  and  the  Chief  Constable — 
an  old  friend  of  the  colonel,  whom  I  had  known  since 
my  boyhood — was  announced. 

"An  inexplicable  business,"  said  he,  after  greetings 
and  condolence.  "All  we  have  found  out  is  that  there 
are  certain  footprints  which  make  it  clear  that  the 
man  came  out  of  the  wood  at  its  nearest  point  to  the 
house  and  after  crossing  the  lawn  to  the  north  of  the 
Laird's  Room,  went  to  the  toolhouse.  His  footprints 
are  not  distinct  on  the  lawn;  but  in  a  flower-plot  near 
his  exit  from  the  wood  and  on  the  black  mould  be- 
tween the  lawn  and  the  toolhouse,  they  are  plain. 
From  the  toolhouse  he  took  a  short  ladder,  which  he 
carried  to  the  gunroom  window,  and  by  its  aid  got 
admittance  to  the  house.  Angus's  statement  shows 
that  when  he  examined  the  window  after  the  colonel 
was  carried  to  bed,  it  was  closed,  but  the  catch  was 
unfastened.  The  burglar  either  had  an  accomplice  in- 
side, or  had  contrived  somehow  or  other  to  gain  access 
to  the  house  beforehand,  and  had  tampered  with  it 
himself.  Once  in  the  gunroom,  the  rest  was  easy.  He 
had  only  to  slip  a  few  yards  along  the  corridor  to  reach 
the  door  of  the  Laird's  Room.  Having  entered,  he 
rifled  the  safe  and  the  colonel's  pockets  and  decamped, 
leaving  the  ladder  lying  on  the  path  below  the  gun- 
room window,  where  it  still  is.  Then  he  appears  to 

178 


THE  SEARCHERS  179 

have  crossed  the  path  to  the  lawn  again  and  made  off, 
keeping  to  the  grass,  for  the  only  other  distinct  foot- 
prints are  a  considerable  distance  away,  near  the  en- 
trance to  the  avenue.  They  lead  through  the  lodge 
gate  to  the  middle  of  the  public  road.  There  we  lose 
sight  of  them  on  the  hard  beaten  surface.  But  they 
are  the  footprints  of  the  same  man,  either  running 
or  walking  cautiously  on  tiptoe.  There  is  no  doubt 
that  the  footprints  are  the  same  as  those  discovered 
after  the  mysterious  visits  which  were  reported  to  me 
some  time  ago  by  Colonel  Forbes.  I  posted  a  couple 
of  my  men  to  prevent  the  prints  from  being  oblit- 
erated." 

We  went  out  by  the  front  door,  where  an  inspector 
and  a  subordinate  were  waiting.  The  eastern  wing, 
shaped  like  an  L,  is  bordered  by  a  path  which  runs 
between  the* wall  of  the  house  and  a  lawn  dotted  with 
flower-pots.  The  Chief  led  the  way,  keeping  to  the 
lawn,  and  pointed  out  that  there  were  no  foot- 
prints on  the  path.  Round  the  corner  of  the  path  we 
reached  the  short  horizontal  branch  of  the  L  close 
to  the  gunroom.  Near  it  is  an  open  space  of  the  same 
character  as  the  pathway,  with  no  grass  on  its  surface 
of  ordinary  black  mould.  It  lies  between  the  end  of 
the  lawn  and  some  outhouses,  and  here  the  footprints 
told  us  their  owner's  movements  as  though  we  had 
been  looking  at  him.  They  were  unmistakably  new, 
and  their  track  formed  the  sides  of  a  triangle,  its  apex 
at  the  toolhouse  door,  its  base  a  line  between  a  point 
near  the  corner  of  the  lawn  and  a  spot  below  the  gun- 
room window. 

The  inspector  handed  me  a  lens,  and  I  bent  over  the 
footprints.  The  markings  were  distinct,  even  without 
the  lens's  aid.  The  first  print  which  I  examined  was 
that  of  a  left  foot,  a  broad  sole  with  large  nail-marks 


i8o  THE  SEARCHERS 

round  the  edges;  but  when  I  turned  my  attention  to 
the  right  foot,  sure  enough,  there  was  the  plain  im- 
print of  a  triangular  patch  in  the  centre.  It  was  clear 
to  demonstration  that,  as  the  Chief  had  said,  the  foot- 
prints were- those  of  "the  prowler" — the  man  whom 
the  colonel  had  seen  earlier  in  the  year:  that  he  had 
walked  across  the  open  space  to  the  toolhouse,  then 
to  the  gunroom  window,  through  which  he  climbed, 
and,  his  dark  work  done,  had  left  by  the  window  and 
crossed  the  pathway,  to  find  himself  again  on  the  lawn. 

"Now  come  this  way,"  said  the  Chief.  Between 
the  edge  of  the  wood  and  the  north-east  corner  of  the 
house  he  halted,  and  pointed  to  a  little  flower-plot.  On 
its  soft  surface,  the  toe  pointing  towards  the  house, 
was  the  deep  mark  of  the  man's  right  foot  with  the 
triangular  patch.  It  was  obvious  that  he  had  come 
from  the  wood,  and  in  the  darkness  had  blundered  into 
the  flower-bed. 

Still  keeping  to  the  grass,  we  now  retraced  our  steps 
and  walked  towards  the  lodge  gate.  About  a  dozen 
yards  from  the  lodge  were  more  prints,  but  of  the 
toes  only,  as  if  the  man  had  been  running  lightly  or 
walking  on  tiptoe.  They  led  from  the  grass  border 
through  the  gate  to  the  middle  of  the  road.  There, 
as  the  Chief  had  told  me,  the  hard  beaten  surface  had 
not  retained  an  impression. 

"My  men  found  no  further  trace  of  them,  although 
they  have  searched  all  round.  Even  the  footprints  in 
the  village  about  a  mile  away  have  been  examined,  but 
with  no  result.  I  confess  that  I  am  puzzled,"  the  Chief 
confided  to  me  as  we  went  back  to  the  house.  "Yet 
the  main  facts  are  simple.  The  man  knew  The  Bield 
and  the  whereabouts  of  the  hidden  safe.  He  must  have 
seen  the  light  in  the  room,  and  known  that  the  colonel 
had  not  gone  to  bed.  I  believe  that  he  wanted  to  get 


THE  SEARCHERS  181 

the  key  of  the  safe,  and  was  ready  to  murder  its  owner 
if  he  resisted,  but  found  his  job  simplified  by  the  col- 
onel's collapse.  He  is  no  ordinary  criminal.  He  has 
been  seen  thrice  and  each  time  he  disappeared  myste- 
riously. Now  he  coolly  turns  up  with  his  plans  ma- 
tured, ready  for  action.  He  makes  no  attempt  to  loot 
and  I  imagine  there  is  nothing  valuable  enough  in  the 
house  to  induce  a  cracksman  to  take  a  special  interest 
in  it.  What  motive,  then,  had  he?  Do  you  know?" 

"I  think  I  do,"  I  answered,  and  gave  him  an  outline 
of  my  adventures  in  Italy  and  London.  "He  is  one 
of  'The  Searchers'  and  his  motive  is  to  steal  a  certain 
paper.  'The  Searchers'  will  stick  at  nothing.  They 
are  hand-in-glove  with  the  Camorra  and,  like  it,  they 
are  a  very  old  organisation.  They  are  supposed  to  be 
few  in  number,  but  highly  versatile,  for  they  include 
among  their  operations  anything  from  company  swin- 
dling and  'flash'  note  manufacture  to  plain  murder." 

"The  Camorra !  I  have  heard  of  the  blackguardly 
society,  although  I  have  not  had  the  pleasure  of  meet- 
ing it  professionally.  But  I  know  that  it  has  a  long 
arm.  In  one  case  it  hustled  a  marked  man  up  and 
down  the  world  for  five  years,  and  got  him  in  the  end. 
He  was  knifed  at  Montevideo.  But  about  this  paper 
you  referred  to — has  the  man  got  it?" 

"That  I  cannot  tell.  The  colonel  may  have  hidden 
it.  I  have  not  had  time  to  search,  but  I  shall  do  so 
this  afternoon." 

We  went  to  the  Laird's  Room,  which  was  locked  and 
had  been  left  (as  the  doctor  had  told  me)  exactly  as 
it  was  when  the  colonel  was  found.  The  blind  was  up ; 
a  magazine  lay  on  the  floor,  beside  it  the  stump  of  a 
cigar;  a  tumbler,  with  about  a  table-spoonful  of  whis- 
key-and-soda  in  it,  and  a  half-empty  siphon  stood  on 
the  table. 


182  THE  SEARCHERS 

"Nothing  further  can  be  done  meanwhile,  except 
to  continue  our  investigations.  The  man's  description, 
has  been  circulated,"  said  the  Chief  with  a  dissatisfied 
frown  on  his  handsome  face.  "All  the  roads  and  sta- 
tions are  being  carefully  watched.  We  found  no  trace 
of  any  motor-car  having  been  either  seen  or  heard  on 
the  night  of  the  burglary.  We  have  taken  casts  of 
the  footprints,  of  course;  but  the  scoundrel  has  dis- 
appeared as  suddenly  as  if  he  had  been  whisked  away 
in  an  aeroplane." 

The  statements  of  the  household  had  been  taken, 
but  no  suspicion  lay  on  any  of  them.  The  colonel's 
bachelor  establishment  did  not  demand  a  large  num- 
ber of  servants.  The  domestics  were  a  cook-house- 
keeper and  two  maids  who  slept  in  The  Bield  and  a 
stable-boy  who  did  odd  jobs  in  the  house  and  came 
every  day  from  the  village.  The  outside  staff  were 
Angus  the  lodge-keeper,  a  gamekeeper,  an  under- 
keeper,  and  two  stalkers.  Angus  occupied  the  lodge. 
Duncan  Ross,  the  first  keeper,  a  married  man,  lived 
in  a  cottage  about  half  a  mile  away;  Hector  Matheson, 
the  second  keeper,  a  bachelor,  in  a  bothy  convenient 
for  his  beat  near  the  western  march  of  the  estate.  The 
two  stalkers,  Rob  Macbain  and  Finlay  Mackenzie, 
were  also  single  men;  they  shared  a  bothy  three  miles 
away,  at  the  edge  of  the  forest  beyond  the  moor. 
There  was  usually  a  chauffeur  employed  at  The  Bield, 
but  no  suitable  successor  had  been  found  to  the  last 
one,  who  had  died  about  a  month  before,  and  the  col- 
onel had  been  driving  the  car  himself,  a  man  from  the 
village  doing  the  cleaning  and  the  running  repairs. 

In  brief,  old  Janet's  evidence  was  that  she  had  been 
awakened  by  the  noise  of  a  door  banging  in  the  wind, 
that  she  got  up  to  shut  it,  and  then  noticed  a  light 
shining  from  the  colonel's  room.  Surprised  (as  the 


THE  SEARCHERS  183 

hour  was  close  upon  one  o'clock  in  the  morning),  she 
went  to  the  Laird's  Room.  There  she  found  the  col- 
onel lying  on  his  face  on  the  floor,  breathing  heavily 
and  unable  to  speak.  She  ran  to  the  dining-room  for 
some  brandy,  roused  the  maids  and  sent  one  of  them 
to  tell  Angus  and  then  to  run  to  the  village  for  the 
doctor.  When  he  arrived,  with  her  help  he  carried 
her  master  to  his  bedroom. 

The  two  maids  concurred.  They  came  downstairs 
when  Janet  roused  them,  and  had  seen  the  colonel  lying 
on  the  floor  before  he  was  carried  to  his  room.  One 
of  them  had  been  sent  by  Janet  to  waken  Angus  and 
then  get  the  doctor. 

Angus's  statement  tallied  with  those  of  the  others. 
The  colonel  was  quite  helpless  when  he  carried  him  to 
bed,  and  never  spoke  to  him.  The  doctor  had  been 
summoned  at  once,  and  arrived  shortly  afterwards. 

Dr.  Hall's  evidence,  apart  from  professional  details, 
narrated  what  the  colonel  had  told  him.  This  was 
practically  identical  with  the  deposition.  The  cause 
of  death  was  syncope  following  a  great  shock. 

Dr.  Robertson,  of  Castleton,  who  had  been  sent  for 
by  Dr.  Hall,  agreed  with  his  colleague's  treatment  and 
opinion. 

None  of  the  outside  servants — the  keepers,  stalkers 
and  stable-boy — had  heard  about  the  affair  until  next 
morning,  nor  had  any  of  them  been  near  The  Bield 
on  the  evening  of  the  burglary. 

"I  make  no  claim  to  being  a  detective,"  the  Chief 
told  me  frankly  as  he  rose  to  go.  "Ours  is  a  law-abid- 
ing county,  which  affords  few  opportunities  for  Gab- 
oriau  mysteries.  But  although  serious  crime  is  rare, 
undiscovered  criminals  are  rarer,  and  I  admit  that  I 
am  mortified  by  my  non-success.  But  I  am  hopeful. 
I  have  a  cordon  of  the  County  police  and  plain-clothes 


1 84  THE  SEARCHERS 

men  carefully  posted,  and  if  'The  Searcher'  gets 
through,  I'll  want  to  know  the  reason  why." 

The  two  constables  were  left  to  watch  the  grounds, 
and  the  Chief  departed. 

He  could  hardly  have  been  ten  minutes  away  when 
another  car  buzzed  up  the  avenue,  its  occupant  Tony, 
sunburned  and  looking  uncommonly  well.  He  had 
got  my  telegram  very  late  on  his  return  to  the  Ross- 
shire  hotel  on  the  previous  evening.  In  the  morning 
he  started  early  and  having  heard  at  Castleton  of  the 
colonel's  death,  came  on  with  all  speed. 

Without  delay,  I  gave  him  the  police  reports  and  the 
witnesses'  statements;  and  after  he  had  mastered  the 
facts,  I  showed  him  the  footprints  and  the  gunroom 
window. 

"Seems  plain,  Neil,"  said  he  when  we  returned  to 
the  house.  "But  before  we  go  further  I  have  some- 
thing to  show  you." 

"The  important  news  you  mentioned  in  your  last 
letter?" 

"Yes.  You'll  open  your  eyes  when  I  tell  you.  The 
family  tradition  about  lost  jewels  sent  by  the  Pope 
long  ago — the  fans  et  origo  of  the  whole  business — 
has  been  much  in  my  mind.  I  worried  away  at  it  and 
got  Clement  Hughes,  who  is  attached  to  the  Embassy 
at  Rome,  to  become  interested.  He  is  keen  on  record- 
hunting,  and  is  a  great  friend  of  Monsignor  Rafia,  one 
of  the  first  men  in  Europe  at  that  sort  of  thing.  I  gave 
Hughes  the  probable  date  of  the  gift,  and  among  the 
'Narratives  of  Scottish  Catholics'  in  the  Valini  MSS. 
at  Rome,  they  unearthed  an  original  letter  written  in 
English  by  a  Father  Sempill,  one  of  the  early  Jesuits, 
to  the  then  General  of  the  Order." 

"What  extraordinary  luck!" 

"Luck!    I  don't  call  it  luck.    A  search  through  the 


THE  SEARCHERS  185 

archives  at  Rome  ought  to  have  been  the  first  step 
thought  of.  Why  it  wasn't  done  long  ago  beats  me! 
Your  respected  ancestors  must  either  have  been  the 
slackest  of  the  slack  or  were  ignorant  of  the  impor- 
tance of  the  business.  Lord  knows !  Perhaps  they 
thought  it  a  wild-goose  chase,  and  as  the  years  passed 
the  story  became  a  hazy  legend.  However,  this  letter 
clears  up  a  good  deal,  but  not,  alas!  one  point.  The 
other  half  of  the  paper  is  still  missing.  But  here  you 
are!"  He  triumphantly  produced  his  letter-case  and 
ha'nded  me  the  document. 

I  read  it  with  extraordinary  interest.  Addressed 
"To  the  Right  Reverend  Father  in  Christ,"  dated 
1563,  quaintly  written,  spelt,  and  worded,  it  ran  as 
follows  (Father  Sempill's  spelling,  and  here  and  there 
his  diction,  being  modernised  for  the  reader's  com- 
fort) : 

"•{Pax  Christi-t" 

"I  write  racked  in  Mind  and  Body,  yet  resigned  to 
the  decree  of  Divine  Providence  and  sustained  by  the 
knowledge  of  the  Prayers  of  Your  Paternity  and  the 
Brethren.  We  hoped  ere  this  to  have  safely  accom- 
plished Our  Mission,  but  it  has  not  come  to  pass.  I 
am  in  great  Sorrow,  for  Father  Hamilton,  who  was 
of  frail  body,  is  Dead,  and  the  Manner  of  it  is  this. 
Fr.  Hamilton  along  with  Fr.  Fraser  and  myself  did 
arrive  in  Edinburgh  with  The  Casket  in  safety,  and 
were  received  in  Gracious  Audience  by  Her  Majesty. 
But  there  are  many  Currents  to  contend  with  when  a 
Queen  is  young  and  beautiful;  full  certain  were  we 
that  we  were  watched  and  spied  upon,  for — a  strange 
thing — the  New  Religion  has  grown,  and  although  I 
know  that  the  Deliverance  of  Israel  will  come,  it  is 
not  yet,  and  many  of  the  People  bow  the  knee  to  Baal. 


1 86  THE  SEARCHERS 

Fearful  of  the  safety  of  The  Casket,  in  our  humble 
duty  to  your  Paternity  and  Holy  Church,  we  left  Se- 
cretly and  by  Night  for  the  North.  Never  travelling 
by  day,  we  made  slow  progress,  but  at  length  came 

near  C .    And  here  was  Black  News.    The  Castle 

of  C was  a  smoking  ruin  and  the  Master  of  it  a 

Prisoner  in  the  Keep  of  Blackness  on  the  Forth.  The 
Casket,  therefore,  could  not  be  delivered.  Further, 
the  Wolves  of  Heresy,  who  never  cease  their  Quest- 
ing, were  near,  but  by  Good  Fortune  we  were  hidden 
by  a  Son  of  the  Church,  until  we  did  one  night  make 
our  way  through  the  Forest  and  entered  the  Great 
Dark  Pass,  our  Purpose  being  to  reach  the  East  Coun- 
try where  we  could  find  Kinsmen  and  Friends.  The 
Written  Word  cannot  picture  the  Savage  Wilderness 
we  entered.  On  the  evening  of  the  second  day  a 
Great  Storm  arose.  Fr.  Hamilton  could  go  no  further, 
and  for  Two  days  and  Two  nights  we  did  hide  with 
him  in  the  Midst  of  blinding  Snow.  On  the  third  day 
he  died  and  Fr.  Fraser  and  I  did  bury  him  with  our 
own  hands  in  a  Secret  Place  among  the  Mountains. 
Exultabunt  Domino  Ossa  Humiliata.  The  Castle  of 

C being  burned  and  the  Master  a  prisoner  and 

in  peril  of  his  life,  the  safety  of  The  Casket,  blessed 
by  His  Holiness,  weighed  upon  us.  We  therefore  de- 
termined to  hide  it  in  The  Grave  until  such  time  as  we 
could  return  in  Secret  for  it.  This  done,  with  many 
Prayers  for  its  Safety,  we  left  our  Dear  Brother  in 
that  Lonely  Place  and  set  out  East  and  Besouth 
through  the  Pass.  After  enduring  Monstrous  Hard- 
ships, travelling  only  by  night,  we  at  length  arrived 
at  the  House  of  a  kinsmen  of  Fr.  Fraser  in  the  Valley 
of  Dee.  There  we  devised  a  Writing  showing  where 
Fr.  Hamilton's  Grave  lies.  Lest  it  should  fall  into 
the  hands  of  any  Externs,  we  did  divide  it  into  two 


THE  SEARCHERS  187 

parts,  Fr.  Eraser  secreting  one  half  and  I  the  other. 
Now  Fr.  Fraser's  kinsman  was  suspect  and  his  house 
had  already  been  searched  once.  He  dared  not  har- 
bour us  long,  wherefore  we  determined  to  return 
South.  To  avert  Suspicion  we  set  out  by  different 
Roads  disguised  as  Countrymen,  our  Design  being  to 
meet  in  Edinburgh.  There  I  arrived  in  safety  but  in 
an  extremity  of  exhaustion  and  to  my  sorrow  to  this 
day  I  have  neither  seen  nor  heard  of  Fr.  Eraser.  I 
have  made  strict  and  secret  Enquiry  and  cannot  think 
that  he  has  been  taken.  I  pray  that  he  has  sailed  again 
to  Rome  and  here  I  await  news  of  him  and  the  com- 
mands of  Your  fraternity.  By  the  Guiding  of  Provi- 
dence I  did  contrive  to  get  secret  audience  of  the  Lady 

of  C ,  who  is  at  a  place  near  Edinburgh.    To  her 

I  told  my  story,  and  gave  her  a  double  of  the  half  of 
the  Paper  in  my  keeping,  so  I  make  no  doubt  that, 
these  Evil  Days  over,  The  Casket  will  be  found  and 
come  to  the  rightful  owner.  Certain  am  I  of  its  pres- 
ent Safety. 

"Like  Fr.  Hamilton,  I  am  weak  of  body  and  I  fear 
me  that  in  this  World  my  Work  is  near  to  an  End. 
Yet  have  I  Solace  in  the  certainty  of  the  Prayers  of 
your  Paternity  and  the  Brotherhood  and  in  the  knowl- 
edge that  He  Who  Ordains  all  things  has  sweetly  Or- 
dained this  my  Tribulation." 

"This  straightens  matters  out  considerably,"  said 
Tony  when  I  had  read  it  through.  "I  often  wondered 
how  half  of  the  paper  got  to  The  Bield,  but  'the  Lady 

of  C '  is,  of  course,  the  Lady  of  Ciuin.     She  got 

it,  and  more  we  don't  know,  except  that  she  or  her 
husband — if  he  ever  got  out  of  Blackness  alive — did 
not  find  the  grave.  Note  the  phrase,  'Exultabunt  Dom- 
ino Ossa  HumiliataJ  The  Searchers  evidently  have 


1 88  THE  SEARCHERS 

had  Father  Eraser's  half  for  many  years.  It  is  clear 
that  Father  Hamilton's  grave  is  somewhere  in  the 
Cairngorms,  and  that  the  secret  paper  holds  the  key 
of  its  whereabouts.  If  'The  Searchers'  have  got  our 
half,  they  may  find  the  grave  first;  but  if  we  manage 
to  get  their  half,  then  we'll  cut  them  out.  Let  me 
have  another  look  at  our  half." 

The  oft-read  little  paper  was  produced.  Tony  took 
it  to  the  light. 

"Here  we  have  the  Larig  mentioned  by  name,  and 
the  words  'Sron  na  Leirg.'  What  is  Sron  na  Leirg, 
Neil?" 

"A  great  wind-searched  waste  of  granite  nearly  four 
thousand  feet  high.  To  explore  it  would  mean  labour 
for  weeks,  but  I  don't  think  that  the  reference  to  it  is 
intended  for  anything  more  than  a  guide.  The  words 
'Until  you  do  come'  point  to  its  being  a  sign-post,  a 
direction,  and  nothing  more." 

"I  agree.  The  hiding-place  must  be  more  accurately 
indicated  than  by  a  mere  reference  to  a  mountain.  But 
we  must  make  sure  that  'The  Searcher'  did  not  find 
a  copy  in  the  colonel's  pocket  or  in  his  safe.  The  Pass 
near  Sron  na  Leirg  must  be  watched  without  an  hour's 
delay.  We  can't  do  this,  for  I  want  you  to  help  me 
with  my  data  here.  Who  are  the  outside  men — keep- 
ers and  stalkers  and  so  forth — on  the  estate?  Are 
they  trustworthy,  and  how  long  have  they  been  here?" 

I  told  him  the  men's  names  and  that  I  was  convinced 
of  their  loyalty.  They  were  all  old  servants,  and  de- 
voted to  the  colonel. 

"I  dislike  taking  any  one  on  trust  in  my  job,  Neil. 
Anything  is  possible.  However,  I'll  risk  it!  Whom 
do  you  suggest  to  keep  an  eye  on  the  Pass?" 

"The  two  stalkers.     They  know  the  ground." 

"How  soon  can  you  have  them  here?" 


THE  SEARCHERS  189 

"By  a  bit  of  luck  one  of  them,  Finlay  Mackenzie, 
is  in  the  village  now.  The  good  fellow,  when  he  heard 
of  our  trouble,  turned  up  this  morning  and  offered  me 
his  help.  I'll  send  Angus  for  him." 

Finlay  soon  arrived — a  short,  slight  man,  but  with 
plenty  of  breathing-space  in  his  hillman's  chest;  tough 
as  whipcord,  and  with  an  eye  as  alert  as  a  bird's.  I 
have  known  him,  after  a  long  day  on  the  hill,  trot 
lightly  and  easily  home — a  good  five  miles — without 
turning  a  hair.  He  knew  every  foot  of  the  Cairn- 
gorms from  boyhood. 

"Finlay,  we  want  you  and  Macbain  to  watch  a  bit 
of  the  Pass  for  us.  We  are  not  after  poachers  this 
time,  but  you  had  better  take  your  rifles  with  you. 
There  may  be  danger." 

Finlay's  face  visibly  brightened  at  the  mention  of 
danger. 

"You  can  pick  up  Macbain  on  the  way,  and  the  two 
of  you  will  take  posts  near  Sron  na  Leirg.  The  man 
we  are  looking  for  has  something  to  do  with  the  col- 
onel's death." 

His  mouth  hardened.  "He'll  get  short  shrift  from 
either  Rob  Macbain  or  myself  if  he  mak's  ony  trouble," 
said  Finlay  with  grim  simplicity. 

"No  doubt;  but  we  don't  want  him  to  suspect  that 
he  is  being  watched.  Avoid  any  appearance  of  this, 
but  look  out  for  any  stranger  who  appears  high  up 
the  Pass.  He  may  be  equipped  with  tools  for  digging. 
If  he  shows  any  sign  of  using  them,  stop  him,  and  send 
Macbain  with  a  message  here  at  once." 

"And  what  will  I  be  doing  with  him,  sir?" 

"Tell  him  that  you  are  one  of  the  watchers  in  the 
forest,  and  that  wandering  off  the  beaten  track  is  not 
allowed.  But  he  must  not  learn  that  we  at  The  Bield 
know  anything  about  his  movements.  The  main  thing 


190  THE  SEARCHERS 

is  not  to  let  him  out  of  your  sight.  Macbain  and  you 
can  relieve  one  another,  and  one  of  you  will  report  to 
me  in  the  morning." 

Finlay  went  over  his  instructions,  and  having  thor- 
oughly mastered  them,  set  out  to  look  for  his  fellow- 
watcher. 


CHAPTER  XXVI 

BY  a  little  birch-fringed  loch  that  sleeps  near  the 
forest  stand  the  ruins  of  a  chapel,  round  it  many  green 
mounds  where  generations  of  the  folk  of  the  Glen, 
laird  and  crofter,  rich  and  poor,  mingle  in  humanity's 
ultimate  dust;  and  there  the  hush  of  a  summer  after- 
noon was  broken  by  the  sound  of  the  Lament  when  his 
clansmen  and  neighbours  laid  Colonel  Ewan  Forbes  to 
rest  beside  many  another  of  his  name,  amidst  the  well- 
loved  hills  of  his  homeland. 

Besides  my  uncle's  will  (which  made  me  his  heir), 
the  solicitors  were  custodians  of  a  sealed  envelope  en- 
dorsed in  his  handwriting:  "For  my  nephew  Nell,  in 
the  event  of  my  death."  To  my  unspeakable  relief, 
it  contained  the  copy  of  the  paper  I  had  sent  him  from 
Ubriano,  which  I  feared  had  been  stolen  on  the  night 
of  the  burglary.  It  was  evident  that  my  uncle  had  not 
kept  a  duplicate  at  The  Bield,  for  there  was  also  a 
memorandum  by  him  which  ran :  "I  am  not  at  ease  with 
this  in  the  house,  and  have  therefore  deposited  it  with 
my  solicitors,  with  instructions  regarding  its  safe  keep- 
ing." 

I  was  further  relieved  by  a  message  from  the  watch- 
ers up  the  Pass.  Rob  Macbain  (who  had  left  Finlay 
there  and  was  to  rejoin  him  immediately)  came  to  re- 
port that  neither  of  them  had  seen  a  soul  near  Sron 
na  Leirg. 

Three  days  passed.  There  had  been  numerous 
meetings  with  the  police  and  the  Procurator-Fiscal  but 

191 


192  THE  SEARCHERS 

all  efforts  to  get  nearer  the  heart  of  the  mystery  had 
failed. 

Tony  was  not  himself.  His  cheerful  alertness  had 
disappeared  and  I  had  become  accustomed  to  seeing 
him  silent  and  lost  in  thought.  He  showed  no  desire 
for  talk  and  complaining  of  sleeplessness,  had  con- 
sulted Dr.  Hall,  who,  to  my  surprise,  told  me  that  he 
was  very  highly  strung,  and  was  allowing  the  affair  to 
absorb  his  thoughts  too  much.  Tony,  of  all  men,  with 
a  fit  of  "the  nerves!" 

"Don't  let  this  business  worry  you,  Tony,"  I  said 
to  him  one  morning  after  breakfast. 

"My  nerves  are  O.  K.,"  he  replied,  briskly  enough. 
"I  dare  say  I'm  concentrating  a  good  deal,  but  the 
good  doctor  forgets  that  it  is  my  job  to  concentrate. 
I'm  used  to  it.  Don't  worry  about  me,  Neil.  I'm  all 
right.  And,"  he  continued,  lowering  his  voice,  "I  am 
nearer  laying  my  hands  on  'The  Searcher'  than  you 
think.  I  believe  that  he  is  itill  near  The  Bield,  skil- 
fully hidden.  More  I  can't  and  won't  say,  but  I  am 
going  to  make  sure  in  a  couple  of  days." 

"To  make  sure!"  I  said  incredulously. 

"One  way  or  the  other.  I  may  be  wrong,  but  I 
think  I'm  right." 

"Can't  I  be  of  any  use  to  you?" 

"I  was  just  about  to  ask  you  to  do  me  a  favour.  I 
want  you  to  do  nothing,  to  ask  no  questions,  and  to 
allow  me  to  go  my  own  way." 

I  suppose  I  looked  a  little  puzzled  and  dissatisfied, 
for  Tony  went  on:  "I'm  sorry  if  you  feel  a  little  'out 
of  it.'  But  the  fact  is,  Neil,  that  you  are  not  a  good 
actor,  and  you're  inclined  to  be  hasty." 

"You  mean  that  I  can't  control  my  face  any  more 
than  my  temper?" 

"Rather  less,  I  should  say.     Let  me  put  it  that  you 


THE  SEARCHERS  193 

are  too  honest.  The  practice  of  dissimulation  is  not 
generally  admired,  but  it  is  sometimes  necessary.  I 
want  you  to  rest  content,  to  'mark  time/  to  behave  as 
if  you  were  beaten  and  sick  of  the  whole  affair,  and  to 
say  so.  You'll  be  of  great  use  to  me  before  the  finish. 
But  for  the  present,  give  me  a  free  hand  for  a  day  or 
two.  Don't  ask  any  questions.  If  I  disappear,  I'll 
turn  up  all  right." 

"Chief  of  the  Staff,  it  is  an  order!  I  am  in  your 
hands.  I'll  ask  nothing  and  expect  nothing." 

"Therein  lies  a  beatitude!  It's  good  of  you  to 
agree.  I  have  my  own  reasons  for  asking  you.  For 
one  thing,  I  am  not  dead  certain  of  my  man.  I  am 
only  morally  certain  (a  phrase  which  I  detest,  be- 
cause I  have  seen  so  many  'moral  certainties'  result  in 
nothing  but  disappointment) ,  but  I  think  that  I  am 
on  the  right  track  and  that  we  shall  crumple  up  the 
plans  of  a  most  capable  villain.  The  most  trifling  cir- 
cumstance might  put  him  on  guard,  and  then — good- 
bye to  our  hopes  of  seeing  him  in  the  dock,  and,  what 
is  worse,  to  the  prospect  of  getting  his  half  of  the 
secret  paper." 

"You  mean  that  we  may  collar  him  with  his  half 
of  the  paper  in  his  possession?" 

"I  do.  I  want  to  prove  by  his  actions  that  he  is  the 
same  man  who  entered  the  colonel's  room." 

"Do  you  mean  to  say  that  he  will  try  again?" 

"I  propose  to  give  him  the  chance;  and  when  he 
appears  somewhere  up  there" — he  pointed  towards 
the  hills — "it  will  be  a  hundred  to  one  on  his  having 
his  own  part  of  the  paper  with  him.  We'll  relieve  him 
of  it,  and  after  that  a  judge  and  jury  will  have  a  com- 
paratively easy  job." 

"And  how  is  all  this  to  be  done,  my  friend?" 

"I  promise  you  that  shortly  after  midnight  to-mor- 


i94  THE  SEARCHERS 

row  I  shall  be  more  explicit.  Meanwhile,  this  is  im- 
perative. You  and  I  are  to  give  out  that  we  have 
abandoned  hope  of  tracing  'The  Searcher,'  and  are  to 
leave  soon  for  the  South.  Tell  this  to  the  servants, 
and  to  one  or  two  gossip  mongers  in  the  neighbour- 
hood. Get  it  well  ventilated  all  over  the  place." 

"I  don't  half  like  leaving  you  to  'carry  on'  alone, 
but  you  give  me  no  alternative.  I'll  see  that  the  pro- 
gramme is  carried  out." 

"Thank  you,  Neil,"  said  Tony.  "Your  face  adver- 
tises that  you  think  I  have  queer  methods;  but  this  is 
a  queer  case,  and,  on  my  soul,  I  think  the  scent  is  breast- 
high.  And  now  I  am  going  to  write  a  few  notes  in  the 
library." 

Just  at  that  moment  Dr.  Hall  was  announced.  He 
entered  hurriedly,  his  thoughtful  face  unusually  ani- 
mated. 

"Phew!"  he  said,  mopping  his  brow  as  he  sank, 
panting,  into  an  arm-chair.  "The  car  is  laid  up,  and 
I've  raced  down.  I  am  glad  to  find  you  both  in,  for  I 
have  something  of  extraordinary  importance  to  tell 
you.  Last  evening,  about  eight  o'clock,  a  man  called 
at  my  house.  I  happened  to  be  in  the  garden  when 
he  arrived.  He  asked  to  see  the  doctor.  I  gave  him 
my  name,  when  he  said  that  he  wished  to  consult  me 
professionally.  We  went  into  the  house,  and  I  treated 
him  for  a  badly-sprained  wrist,  which  he  said  he  had 
got  through  a  fall  when  he  was  fishing  at  Loch  Afries. 
His  name,  he  said,  was  Lee,  and  he  was  at  the  Glen 
Afries  Hotel  for  a  week,  trying  the  hill  lochs.  Now, 
perhaps  you  know  there  is  a  short  cut  from  the  back 
of  my  house  through  the  Afries  Wood  to  the  Glen- 
Road.  I  showed  it  to  him,  and  saw  him  out  at  the 
wicket-gate.  As  this  gate  is  kept  locked,  I  took  the 


THE  SEARCHERS  195 

key  with  me  and  having  opened  it  and  seen  him  off,  I 
locked  the  gate  again. 

"This  morning,  about  an  hour  ago,  I  was  finishing 
my  rounds  and  called  at  the  Glen  Afries  Hotel  to  see 
old  Clarke,  the  proprietor.  When  there  I  casually 
referred  to  my  patient  of  the  previous  evening  and  was 
surprised  to  hear  that  there  was  no  one  at  the  hotel 
answering  to  his  description.  Nor  had  there  been  any 
visitor  of  the  name  of  Lee." 

"What  was  he  like?"  Keene-Leslie  asked,  intense 
excitement  in  his  voice. 

"A  clean-shaven,  presentable  man  of  medium  height, 
in  a  blue-serge  suit.  He  spoke  and  looked  like  a  gen- 
tleman. I  put  him  down  as  a  professional  man  on 
holiday;  but  I  didn't  pay  particular  attention  to  his 
appearance.  What  electrified  me  was  a  discovery  on 
my  way  home.  I  took  the  short  cut  back  from  the 
hotel  to  my  house  through  the  Afries  Wood.  It  had 
been  raining  a  little  last  evening,  as  you  know,  and 
the  path  was  soft.  I  was  picking  my  way  through  a 
shallow  puddle,  when  I  saw  a  print  of  a  large  foot  near 
the  edge.  Instantly  I  stopped  dead,  for  in  the  centre 
was  the  distinct  mark  of  a  rough  triangle!" 

"By  Jove!  the  man  has  courage,"  said  Tony.  He 
began  to  pace  the  room,  his  usual  composure  struck 
out  of  his  face.  "When  did  you  see  the  footprint?" 

"A  quarter  of  an  hour  ago.  I  came  here  at  a  run, 
after  I  had  had  a  good  look  at  the  path,  and  found  that 
the  footprints  went  from  my  gate  towards  the  Glen 
Road.  They  are  those  of  the  man  whom  I  let  out  by 
the  gate  last  night.  It  has  not  been  opened  since." 

"It's  now  nearly  eleven  o'clock.  He  was  at  your 
house  fifteen  hours  ago.  He  can't  be  far  away,"  said  I. 

"He  must  be  in  hiding.  The  prints  are  visible  from 
the  wicket-gate  to  about  three-quarters  of  the  way 


196  THE  SEARCHERS 

along  the  path.  Their  owner  had  then  cut  into  the 
wood,  and  although  there  are  some  slight  traces  of 
him  there,  I  lost  sight  of  the  tracks.  Better  come  and 
have  a  look  at  them." 

We  hurried  out  to  the  path  mentioned  by  the  doctor, 
and  there  found  the  tell-tale  footprints.  They  were 
plainly  those  of  the  man  who  had  entered  The  Bield. 

The  doctor  pressed  his  boot  into  the  soft  earth 
alongside  one  of  the  prints.  "He  must  have  a  large, 
unusually  broad  foot,"  said  he.  "See!" 

The  difference  between  the  footprints  was  marked. 
The  impression  of  the  doctor's  long,  narrow  foot  could 
easily  have  been  put  inside  the  other.  We  followed 
suit  and  although  Tony's  feet  and  mine  are  by  no  means 
on  the  small  side,  they  were  dwarfed  by  the  stranger's 
prints.  We  followed  the  bootmarks  along  the  path 
to  the  point  where,  as  the  doctor  had  said,  they  dis- 
appeared in  the  wood.  -  . 

The  police  were  rung  up  and  in  an  hour  we  were 
searching  the  neighbourhood  along  with  them.  But 
again  the  result  was  nil,  and  late  in  the  evening  we  re- 
turned empty-handed.  I  was  tired  and  depressed. 
Not  so  Tony.  There  was  a  marked  change  for  the 
better  in  his  spirits,  though  he  did  not  say  much,  but 
busied  himself  with  his  notes  in  obvious  satisfaction 
and  with  a  smile  in  his  eye.  It  was  late  when  he 
ceased  work. 

"How  does  this  last  development  square  with  your 
notes  and  your  theory  of  the  man  in  hiding?"  I  asked 
him,  not  without  a  spice  of  mischief. 

"I'll  tell  you  to-morrow  at  midnight  or  shortly  af- 
ter," he  said.  "And  now  I  am  going  to  bed.  I  shall 
sleep  well.  To-morrow  you  won't  see  me  until  the 
evening.  I  am  going  to  disappear  and  nurse  a  little 
scheme  of  my  own.  Good-night,  Didymus!" 


THE  SEARCHERS  197 

He  went  off  light-heartedly,  humming  an  air  and 
sure  enough,  next  morning,  he  did  not  appear  at  break- 
fast. Janet  told  me  that  he  had  risen  early,  and  was 
off  for  a  day's  fishing.  I  carried  out  his  instructions, 
letting  it  be  known  to  every  one  that  we  had  given  up 
hope  of  finding  any  clue,  and  were  about  to  leave  for 
the  South  as  soon  as  possible. 

In  the  forenoon  the  stalkers  again  reported  that 
no  one  had  been  seen  at  Sron  na  Leirg;  and  as  it 
was  raining  heavily,  I  spent  the  most  of  a  boring  day 
indoors,  curbing  my  impatience  until  Tony's  return. 

A  telegram  came  for  him  in  the  late  afternoon,  but 
the  hours  passed  and  there  were  no  signs  of  him.  Din- 
ner was  postponed  until  I  could  hold  out  no  longer,  and 
about  nine  o'clock  I  sat  down  to  my  solitary  meal  in 
a  growing  anxiety  regarding  his  absence. 


CHAPTER  XXVII 

THE  footprints  of  the  man  who  had  lied  to  the 
doctor  stamped  him  as  "The  Searcher."  True,  his 
description  was  different  from  the  one  with  which 
we  had  become  familiar,  but  it  was  highly  probable 
— almost  certain — that  he  had  shaved  his  beard  and 
was  still  lurking  about,  bent  on  further  mischief.  His 
injured  wrist  had  tempted  him  to  take  the  risk  of  con- 
sulting the  doctor. 

Such  thoughts  kept  running  through  my  mind  as  I 
dined  in  lonely  state.  I  grew  more  uneasy  as  the  night 
wore  on,  and  at  half-past  eleven  I  went  to  the  hall 
door  to  see  if  there  were  any  signs  of  Tony.  To  my 
relief,  just  as  I  opened  the  door,  he  appeared  with  rod 
and  creel. 

"Sorry  I'm  late,  Neil!"  said  he;  then,  without  wait- 
ing for  me  to  speak,  "Is  there  a  telegram  for  me?" 

The  anxiety  in  his  face  and  voice  was  apparent.  I 
handed  him  the  waiting  telegram  and  watched  him 
devour  its  contents.  His  curiously  wide-open  eyes 
sought  mine  and  in  them  I  read  strange  matters. 

"I  don't  think  I  ever  received  more  welcome  news. 
It  is  in  cipher,  but  I'll  decode  it  for  you  afterwards 
and  explain.  Give  me  food,  I  pray  you!" 

Some  cold  odds  and  ends  were  laid  out  for  him 
and  these  he  attacked  with  the  silent  concentration 
of  a  hungry  man.  I  went  to  the  Laird's  Room,  and 
by  the  time  he  joined  me  there  it  was  almost  mid- 
night. 

198 


THE  SEARCHERS  199 

"Your  face  is  a  note  of  interrogation,"  said  Tony, 
as  he  drew  his  chair  to  the  fire,  "but  except  for  the 
receipt  of  the  telegram,  my  chronicle  of  the  day  isn't 
exciting.  If  you  want  to  know  how  I  spent  most  of 
the  time,  look  into  my  creel,  and  you'll  find  nine  pounds 
of  excellent  trout,  which  I  pulled  out  of  Loch  Ruie." 

"The  deuce  you  did!" 

"Yes.  I  wanted  to  be  alone.  Fishing  suits  me  when 
I  am  thinking  hard.  Besides,  had  I  been  here,  I  would 
have  been  on  tenter-hooks  until  the  telegram  arrived. 
I  fished  until  evening,  when  I  walked  over  to  the  inn 
at  Ardruie.  Then  the  rain  came  down  hard.  I  waited 
on  the  chance  of  its  stopping,  but  it  didn't,  so  I  tramped 
back  the  ten  miles  in  the  dark." 

I  looked  at  the  clock.  It  was  on  the  stroke  of  mid- 
night. I  was  on  the  point  of  reminding  him  of  his 
promise,  when  it  struck  me  that  he  was  listening  in- 
tently for  something,  and  the  feeling  grew  upon  me  un- 
til it  became  uncomfortable.  Next  moment  the  sound 
of  stealthy  tapping  at  the  window  lifted  me  to  my 
feet  in  a  gust  of  suspicion  and  alarm. 

"Compose  yourself,  Neil,"  said  Tony,  smiling.  "I 
am  expecting  a  visitor.  The  hour  is  a  little  unconven- 
tional, but  you  have  met  him  before.  I'll  be  back  in  a 
moment  with  him." 

He  left  the  room  and  I  heard  the  hall  door  open  and 
close  again.  In  a  few  seconds  he  reappeared,  along 
with  a  man  in  toil-stained  clothes  and  muddy  boots. 
His  hands  were  grimy,  his  face  was  unshaven  and  he 
wore  a  wisp  of  a  loose  cravat  in  place  of  a  collar. 
Manual  labour  was  written  all  over  him. 

Tony  locked  the  door  after  him  and  drew  the  cur- 
tains closer,  the  man  meanwhile  regarding  me  with 
respectful  curiosity,  turning  his  cap  slowly  round  in 
his  hands. 


200  THE  SEARCHERS 

"Well,  how  goes  the  work?"  asked  Tony,  with  an 
amused  glance  at  me. 

"I'm  getting  used  to  it,  but  it's  the  devil  and  all 
for  a  man's  back  if  he  is  new  to  it,"  was  the  stranger's 
reply. 

I  thought  I  knew  the  voice. 

"Come  into  the  light,"  I  said. 

He  grinned,  and  came  forward  out  of  the  shadow. 

"  'Where  shall  I  drive  you,  sir?'  "  he  quoted.  "Do 
you  remember?" 

Instantly  I  recognised  him. 

"Sparke,  by  all  that's  wonderful!"  For  the  manual 
labourer  was  none  other  than  the  excellent  Sparke  of 
the  C.I.D. 

"Yes,  Mr.  Forbes,"  said  he,  as  we  shook  hands 
heartily,  "here  we  are  again!" 

"Sparke  has,  for  a  day  or  two,"  announced  Tony, 
"torn  himself  away  from  London  and  automobiles. 
He  is  now,  at  twenty-two  shillings  a  week,  engaged  in 
lumber  work  in  the  Forest  of  Rothie.  In  his  leisure 
hours  he  continues  to  study  the  habits  of  the  criminal 


"He  is  helping  us?" 

"That's  it,"  said  Sparke.  "Mr.  Keene-Leslie  asked 
me  to  join  him  and  he  worked  the  oracle  with  the  heads 
of  the  Yard.  I'm  very  glad  to  be  here,  for  ever  since 
we  met  I  have  been  anxious  to  rope  in  the  beauties  who 
bolted  from  No.  9  Duff  Avenue.  I've  got  a  room 
near  the  village,  and  go  to  my  work  early  in  the  morn- 
ing; but  I  have  my  evenings  to  myself." 

"Which,"  interjected  Tony,  "have  been  most  excel- 
lently employed." 

"Glad  you  think  so.  Did  you  get  the  telegram,  Mr. 
Keene-Leslie?"  he  asked. 

"I  did.     Here  it  is.     Wonderfully  lucky,  isn't  it?" 


THE  SEARCHERS  201 

Sparke  read  it,  and  his  face  lit  up  with  the  joy  of 
an  artist. 

"Call  it  lucky,  if  you  like;  but  there's  more  than 
luck  in  it.  You're  wasted — absolutely  wasted.  You 
ought  to  be  with  us,  Mr.  Keene-Leslie,"  he  said,  re- 
garding Tony  with  reverence. 

"You  could  not  have  paid  me  a  higher  compliment, 
Sparke,"  said  Tony,  well-pleased. 

Sparke  produced  a  pocket-book  and  tore  out  a  leaf, 
which  he  handed  to  Tony. 

"I  have  brought  you  a  few  notes.  You  can  read  'em 
over  after  I  leave.  Beyond  these,  I  don't  think  I 
have  anything  to  add  to  what  I  told  you  to-day." 

"I  met  Sparke  this  afternoon,  on  my  way  to  the 
loch,"  explained  Tony. 

"Accidentally,  by  appointment,"  added  the  detec- 
tive. "Now,  I  have  something  to  do  to-night  yet,  and 
my  plans  won't  give  me  another  minute." 

"I  know.  Now,  let  me  see.  This  is  Tuesday.  Can 
you  turn  up  here  on  Thursday  morning  early — say  at 
seven  o'clock?" 

Sparke  nodded. 

"Good !  Meanwhile  carry  on,  and  we'll  have  every- 
thing ready,  bar  accidents,  for  the  setting  of  the  rat- 
trap  by  Thursday  morning." 

Tony  went  with  him  to  the  hall  door,  leaving  me  in 
a  fever  of  curiosity.  When  he  came  back  his  face  was 
very  grave,  and  there  were  harder  lines  than  I  had  ever 
seen  in  it.  The  telegram  was  in  his  hand.  He  looked 
from  it  to  me,  and  his  first  words  left  me  dumbfounded. 

"Neil,  'The  Searcher,'  and  the  red-haired  man  in 
Edinburgh  are  one  and  the  same,"  he  said.  "His 
finger-prints  are  identical  with  those  on  the  blood- 
stained front  of  the  shirt  you  wore  that  night." 

I  was  too  amazed  to  speak. 


102  THE  SEARCHERS 

"This  telegram  proves  it,"  he  went  on.  "It  is  from 
my  friend  of  the  Habitual  Criminals'  Register  at  Scot- 
land Yard.  It  is  in  code,  but  interpreted,  runs :  'Prints 
beyond  doubt  same  as  Nos.  2131776  and  2131786.' 
These  arc  the  prints  of  the  right  thumb  and  right 
index  finger  of  your  terror-stricken  red-haired  clerk. 
But  I  hold  you  to  your  promise — in  your  own  words — 
'to  ask  nothing  and  expect  nothing.'  I  can  say  no 
more;  but,  take  my  word,  you  and  I  are  to  meet  him 
soon,  Neil." 

Most  unjustly,  for  a  minute  or  two  I  suspected 
Tony  of  posing,  of  weaving  unnecessary  mystery  for  the 
sake  of  gratifying  a  hidden  streak  of  vanity — a  desire 
to  have  all  the  kudos,  or  at  best  of  pandering  to  a 
melodramatic  hanker  for  a  good  "curtain."  But  I  had 
given  him  my  promise,  and  therefore  I  bridled  my 
tongue. 

Nettled  and  disappointed,  "Very  well.  As  you 
wish,"  was  all  I  said;  and  if  there  was  a  hint  of  sulki- 
ness  in  the  reply,  he  forebore  to  make  any  comment  on 
it.  Soon  his  cool  and  level  voice,  sketching  his  scheme 
— the  rat-trap,  as  he  called  it — for  out-witting  "The 
Searcher,"  drove  everything  from  my  mind  except  one 
thought,  the  perfecting  of  the  plan.  If  he  kept  me — 
as  I  thought — too  much  in  the  dark,  he  did  so  for  what 
seemed  to  him  good  and  sufficient  reasons.  Let  a 
man's  acumen  and  resource  be  judged  by  the  results. 
Tony's  bold  and  ingenious  scheme  justified  its  incep- 
tion and,  among  other  things,  made  me  agree  unre- 
servedly with  the  verdict  he  gave  after  dinner  on  the 
eventful  foggy  night  in  Edinburgh:  "I  have  found  man 
hunts  more  interesting  than  the  trail  of  beasts  or  jew- 
els, and  I  have  chased  all  three." 

After  he  had  indicated  the  general  plan,  he  pro- 


THE  SEARCHERS  203 

duced  his  notes,  a  lot  of  careless-looking  jottings  in  pen- 
cil. 

"The  details  and  the  mechanism  are  as  important 
for  the  carrying  out  of  this  business  as  the  laying  of 
the  fuse  to  a  mine.  First  of  all,"  said  he,  "give  me 
the  names  of  some  places  near  the  summit  of  the  Pass; 
places  with  well-known  distinctive  names  and  charac- 
ters— not  too  near  Sron  na  Leirg — spots  which  can 
easily  be  watched." 

A  map  of  the  hills  was  brought  out,  and  half-a- 
dozen  names  discussed  in  turn.  In  the  end  we  fixed 
on  Coire  an  t-6ranaiche  (the  Chanter  Corrie),  a  wild 
cul-de-sac  in  the  solitudes  of  Braeriach. 

"So  be  it!  'The  Searcher'  shall  be  lured  to  the 
Chanter  Corrie  and  we  shall  be  there  to  receive  him. 
This  is  part  of  my  little  scheme,"  he  continued  as  he 
produced  a  copy  of  our  half  of  the  secret  paper.  "In 
this  writing  the  only  mention  of  a  place-name,  apart 
from  the  Larig  itself,  is  Sron  na  Leirg.  Now,  we'll 
substitute  the  words  'The  Chanter  Corrie'  for  'Sron 
na  Leirg'  in  a  -cooked  facsimile  of  our  paper,  and  give 
our  friend  an  opportunity  of  stealing  it  or  copying  it. 
He  will  read  this  cooked  half  along  with  his  own  genu- 
ine one  and  his  heart  will  rejoice,  for  he  will,  to  all 
appearances,  have  in  his  possession  the  thing  he  has 
schemed  over  and  sinned  over  and  damned  himself  for 
— the  completed  guide  to  Father  Hamilton's  grave. 
Of  course,  it  will  be  nothing  of  the  sort.  He  may 
hunt  the  Chanter  Corrie  till  the  crack  of  doom  and  be 
none  the  wiser;  but  the  main  point  is  that  he  will  be 
drawn  there  like  a  bit  of  steel-filing  to  a  magnet.  He 
will  have  his  own  half  of  the  paper  with  him,  and  it 
will  be  our  business  to  relieve  him  of  it." 

"And  how  are  you  to  throw  the  fly  over  him?" 

"I  want  you  to  have  some  business  which  will  take 


204  THE  SEARCHERS 

you  from  home  to-morrow,  say,  to  Castleton  for  most 
of  the  day.  When  you  return  the  initial  trap  will 
have  been  set,  and  in  all  probability  the  bait  nibbled  at. 
After  that  we  must  pretend  to  leave  for  the  South. 
In  reality  we  shall  be  in  hiding  in  the  Chanter  Corrie. 
When  he  thinks  the  coast  is  clear,  'The  Searcher'  will 
find  his  way  there  at  once.  And  now  let's  think  out 
some  plans." 

These  included  arrangements  for  sending  the  keep- 
ers and  the  stalkers,  all  armed,  to  watch  the  Pass 
near  the  Chanter  Corrie  until  our  arrival ;  the  selection 
of  observation-posts;  a  pretended  start  by  us  in  the 
South  train,  and  a  swift  doubling  back  on  our  tracks. 
Possible  tactics  for  an  encounter  up  the  Pass  were  dis- 
cussed; a  time-table  was  drawn  up;  nothing  was  left 
to  chance.  The  dawn,  stealing  through  the  curtains, 
found  us  still  busy  at  the  details  and  the  cocks  were 
crowing  long  before  we  thought  of  sleep. 


CHAPTER  XXVIII 

IN  the  morning  we  agreed  that  the  bogus  copy  of 
our  half  of  the  paper  (with  the  words  "Chanter  Cor- 
rie"  substituted  in  it  for  "Sron  na  Leirg")  should  be  in 
my  handwriting,  and  in  the  Laird's  Room  I  wrote  it  out 
and  gave  it  to  Tony.  In  a  corner  of  the  room  was  a 
little  escritoire,  which  I  unlocked  at  his  request.  There 
was  nothing  in  it  except  two  or  three  bundles  of  re- 
ceipts and  some  household  account-books.  Tony  over- 
hauled it,  opened  and  shut  the  lid  several  times,  locked 
and  unlocked  it  twice  or  thrice,  and  carefully  examined 
the  key.  Then  he  folded  the  faked  paper  and  put  it  in 
an  open  envelope,  which  he  deposited  in  a  little  drawer 
inside  the  escritoire. 

'With  your  kind  permission,'  as  the  conjurers  say, 
I  shall  keep  the  key  to-day,  Neil,"  he  said,  as  he  shut 
down  the  lid.  "Nothing  further  can  be  done  until  you 
return  from  Castleton."  It  was  important,  he  em- 
phasised, that  I  should  make  a  point  of  not  turning 
up  until  the  evening. 

I  left  him  busy  in  the  writing-room  making  a  rough 
sketch  map  of  the  lie  of  the  ground  near  the  summit 
of  the  Pass. 

While  I  was  pacing  the  platform,  awaiting  the  train, 
a  rough  looking  lumberman  asked  me  civilly  for  a 
match,  and  as  he  returned  the  box,  whispered,  "Tell 
Mr.  Keene-Leslie  that  all  goes  well." 

At  Castleton  I  lunched  with  the  Chief  Constable 
and  the  Procurator-Fiscal,  who  read  me  various  re- 

205 


206  THE  SEARCHERS 

ports  and  their  notes.  They  were  still  hopeful,  but 
their  tone  lacked  conviction;  and  I  passed  the  rest  of 
a  dull  day  in  the  club,  spinning  all  sorts  of  theories 
concerning  Tony's  scheme,  and  counting  the  minutes 
till  train-time.  It  was  close  upon  seven  o'clock  when 

I  got  back  to  The  Bield,  to  find  Tony  stretched  in  a 
deck-chair  in  the  garden,  placidly  enjoying  a  cigar. 

"Behold  me  on  great  good  terms  with  myself !  I 
am  at  peace  with  nearly  all  the  world.  Smooth  the 
wrinkles  from  your  brow,  my  lad,"  was  his  airy  greet- 
ing, but  under  it  I  suspected  a  current  of  suppressed 
excitement.  "The  scheme  has  prospered  amazingly. 

II  Signer  Searcher  is,  I  think,  in  a  cleft  stick.     Come 
with  me."     He  swung  his  long  legs  out  of  the  chair, 
and  I  followed  him  into  the  house. 

"By  the  way,"  I  said,  as  we  entered  the  Laird's 
Room,  "a  toil-stained  lumberman,  otherwise  friend 
Sparke,  contrived  a  word  with  me  at  the  station  this 
morning.  He  sends  a  message  that  all  is  well." 

"Good  I  Sparke  will  require  two  days'  sleep  after 
this  business.  He  has  been  working  overtime." 

Tony  locked  the  door,  and  then  went  to  the  escri- 
toire in  the  corner  of  the  room. 

"I  want  you  to  examine  the  lid  of  this  desk  without 
touching  it,"  he  said. 

I  looked  carefully  at  its  dark  mahogany  surface. 

"I  can  see  nothing,"  I  told  him. 

"Nor  can  I.  I  didn't  expect  to.  I  left  the  key,  care- 
lessly enough,  lying  here."  He  pointed  to  a  little 
bookshelf  which  ran  along  the  wall  behind  the  desk. 

"And  it  is  still  where  you  left  it." 

"Not  quite.  Look  at  the  surface  of  the  woodwork 
near  it."  He  handed  me  a  powerful  lens,  and  I  bent 
over  the  shelf. 

"See  anything?"  he  asked. 


THE  SEARCHERS  207 

"A  few  scratches  and  a  little  faint  bluish  line." 

"Just  so !  The  scratches  are  old.  The  line  is  new. 
I  pencilled  it  there  this  forenoon.  Then  I  laid  the 
key  exactly  on  the  top  of  it,  and  /  have  not  touched  it 
since.  Some  one  has  been  in  this  room  and  has  handled 
it.  Observe  that  it  is  now  lying  at  least  a  couple  of 
inches  away  from  the  line." 

I  took  up  the  lens  again.    It  was  as  he  said. 

"But  whoever  touched  it  must  have  had  precise 
knowledge  of  its  whereabouts.  How  did  he  get  that 
knowledge?"  I  asked,  mystified. 

"I  helped  him  considerably,"  was  the  unexpected 
reply.  "Now  I'm  going  to  try  to  reconstruct  the 
scene." 

He  unlocked  the  escritoire  and  opened  the  lid  of  the 
desk.  This  done,  he  slowly  and  carefully  pulled  out 
the  little  drawer  inside,  and  from  it  took  the  open 
envelope  containing  the  bogus  paper.  It  was  lying  in 
the  place  where  I  had  last  seen  it  in  the  morning. 

"Everything  as  I  left  it,  Neil?" 

"Um — er — apparently." 

"You  are  becoming  cautious.  But  you  are  right. 
It  has  only  apparently  been  untouched.  Watch!" 

He  took  the  envelope  to  a  table  by  the  window,  and 
holding  it  in  the  horizontal  position  in  which  he  had 
found  it  in  the  drawer,  opened  it  and  drew  out  the 
paper,  which  he  unfolded.  Then  he  carefully  shook 
both  envelope  and  paper  above  the  dark  surface  of  the 
table.  I  was  looking  over  his  shoulder. 

"Did  you  see  anything  fall  out  of  either  envelope  or 
paper?" 

"Nothing.  That  I'll  swear  to.  I  was  watching 
most  attentively." 

"Excellent  I     The  paper  has  been  tampered  with." 

"Are  you  sure?" 


208  THE  SEARCHERS 

"I  don't  often  use  the  word  'sure.'  But  I  am  as 
sure  that  the  desk  has  been  opened  as  I  am  sure  that 
you  and  I  are  alive.  The  little  drawer  has  also  been 
opened.  So  has  the  envelope,  and  the  paper  has  been 
taken  out  and  replaced." 

I  drew  a  long  breath.    We  had  struck  the  trail. 

"And  I  shall  prove  all  this,"  Tony  went  on,  a  con- 
fident ring  in  his  voice.  "This  morning  I  made  some 
experiments  with  the  lid  of  the  escritoire  and  the 
drawer  inside  it.  After  half-an-hour  of  these,  I  put 
two  little  specks  of  blotting  paper,  not  much  bigger 
than  pin-heads,  inside  the  paper  in  such  a  position 
that  they  would  inevitably  fall  out  if  anybody  unfolded 
it.  Similarly,  I  put  other  two  below  the  drawer  just 
at  the  edge,  and  on  the  lid  of  the  desk  (which,  as 
you  see,  opens  upwards)  I  laid  three  other  specks  of 
paper  coloured  in  exact  imitation  of  the  dark  brown 
of  the  mahogany.  Lying  on  the  lid,  they  were  prac- 
tically invisible.  Now!" 

He  crossed  the  room  and  pointed  to  the  floor  near 
the  escritoire.  There  I  saw  two  little  specks  of  reddish 
blotting-paper,  no  bigger  than  lady-birds. 

"If  you  pick  these  up,  I  think  you  will  find  them 
marked.  The  paper  was  taken  out  and  opened  where 
we  stand." 

I  picked  up  the  specks,  and,  sure  enough,  on  each 
was  a  pencilled  dot. 

"Call  me  Didymus  no  longer,"  I  said,  staring  at 
them. 

"Now  for  the  escritoire.  Before  I  opened  it  just 
now  there  ought  to  have  been  three  little  dark  brown 
specks  of  paper  on  the  lid.  I  put  them  near  the  edge. 
They  were  no  longer  there — you  will  find  them  now  on 
the  flat  surface  close  to  the  hinges." 

Again  it  was  as  he  said. 


THE  SEARCHERS  209 

"The  lid  had  been  opened,  and  the  specks,  of  course, 
ran  down  its  slope:  The  displacement  might  have 
happened  through  a  draught  of  air  or  a  housemaid's 
dusting,  but  inside  the  desk" — he  opened  the  lid — 
"were  the  two  specks  which  I  put  below  the  little 
drawer.  They  are  unmarked.  See !" 

Lying  at  the  bottom  of  the  desk,  just  below  the 
drawer,  were  two  more  specks  of  paper.  He  lifted 
them  out  and  handed  them  to  me. 

"My  only  fear  was  that  I  had  overdone  it — that 
I  had  planted  too  many  of  the  tell-tale  specks,  and  that 
'The  Searcher,'  an  abnormally  cunning  and  intelligent 
scoundrel,  would  spot  them  and  suspect  a  trap.  But 
evidently  he  didn't." 

"He  has  read  the  bogus  paper?" 

"No  doubt.  And  he  has  probably  taken  a  copy  of 
it." 

"Then  he  may  have  started  already  for  the  Pass." 

"I  don't  think  so.  Sparke  is  watching  him.  If 
he  starts,  I  shall  be  told  instantly.  But  I  fancy  that 
he  won't  start  so  long  as  he  thinks  we  are  here." 

"So  the  sooner  we  pretend  to  take  our  departure 
for  the  South  the  better?" 

"Yes.  This  is  Wednesday  evening.  We  want  a 
day  to  solder  up  the  plans  we  sketched  last  night." 

"We  can  start  on  Friday.  To-morrow  I  shall  bring 
the  keepers  and  the  stalkers  here  quietly,  and  explain 
what  is  wanted.  They  will  be  as  keen  as  beagles,  and 
they  will  hold  their  tongues.  No  one  can  gabble  like  a 
Highlander  if  he  chooses;  but  if  he  doesn't  choose, 
a  Trappist  monk  is  a  chatterbox  by  comparison." 

"The  men  can't  come  with  us  on  our  pretended  start 
South,  of  course.  They  must  be  sent  on  before  us." 

"The   stalkers  are   on  the  watch   already,    as   you 


210  THE  SEARCHERS 

know,"  said  I.  "Angus  and  the  two  keepers  can  steal 
up  the  Pass  and  join  them.  That  would  make  five  al- 
lies in  their  places  before  we  come  on  the  scene." 

"Are  they  good  shots?" 

"Ross  and  the  two  stalkers  are  excellent.  The  other 
two  are  above  the  average  with  either  rifle  or  shot- 
gun." 

"Good  I  You  and  I  can  run  the  revolver  depart- 
ment." 

The  time-table  and  the  map  were  consulted,  and 
finally  we  decided  to  take  our  pretended  departure 
for  the  South  by  the  afternoon  train  on  Friday.  At 
Ardgarry,  about  forty  miles  down  the  great  curve  of 
the  Highland  line,  we  were  to  leave  the  train,  double 
back  up  Glen  Tilt  by  motor-car  as  far  as  we  could, 
and  thereafter  push  on  with  all  speed  from  the  south 
end  of  the  wild  Larig. 

I  undertook  that  a  motor-car  and  chauffeur  would 
meet  us  at  Ardgarry.  As  we  wished  to  be  at  the  Chan- 
ter Corrie  by  daybreak,  part  of  the  climb  would  be 
by  night,  and  although  the  weather  promised  well,  a 
good  guide  was  desirable.  I  knew  one — Malcolm 
Cameron,  an  experienced  and  tireless  mountaineer — 
who  lived  near  Ardgarry.  A  guide  is  not  indispensable, 
but  he  saves  time  and  is  a  stand-by  in  case  of  accidents. 
Many  a  climber  has  rued  having  started  without  one, 
for  the  Larig,  even  in  June  daylight,  let  alone  after 
sunset,  can  be  a  place  of  moods,  of  blinding  mists  or 
black  roaring  tempests. 


CHAPTER  XXIX 

SPARKE  turned  up  punctually  at  seven  o'clock  next 
morning,  and  was  closeted  with  Tony  for  an  hour. 
He  had,  of  course,  been  given  the  details  of  the 
scheme.  He  was  not  to  accompany  us.  His  part  now 
was  to  remain  in  the  valley  to  look  after  his  end  of 
the  net.  Having  jotted  down  an  approximate  time- 
table of  our  movements  on  the  morrow,  off  he  went  in 
great  good  spirits. 

Angus  had  gone  to  seek  Duncan  Ross  and  Hector 
Matheson,  the  two  keepers,  and  before  his  return  with 
them,  Finlay  Mackenzie  appeared  from  the  hills.  He 
and  Rob  Macbain  had  been  in  hiding  night  and  day 
near  Sron  na  Leirg,  but  had  seen  no  one.  I  sent  him 
for  some  breakfast,  and  when  Angus  returned  with 
Duncan  and  Hector,  I  took  them  all  into  the  library, 
where  the  plan  was  unfolded  to  them.  The  heartiness 
and  the  promptitude  of  their  offer  of  help  could  not 
have  been  bettered.  Duncan,  senior  and  spokesman, 
assured  us  at  the  outset  that  although  they  knew  that 
there  was  something  "no  very  chancy"  afoot,  they  were 
asking  no  questions.  They  would  do  anything  for  the 
sake  of  the  old  laird  and  myself.  There  was  no  hesi- 
tation, no  doubt,  no  "ifs"  or  "buts."  If  ever  I  am 
in  a  tight  corner,  I  shall  wish  no  better  allies  than 
these  deep-chested,  sun-bronzed  hillmen,  keen,  intelli- 
gent, loyal,  and  men  of  their  hands.  Even  Angus, 
in  spite  of  his  years,  would  have  been  an  ugly  customer 
to  tackle  if  his  blood  were  up.  They  listened  intently, 

211 


212  THE  SEARCHERS 

now  and  then  throwing  in  a  question  or  a  suggestion, 
until  each  man  had  grasped  the  scheme,  and  knew 
thoroughly  his  place  and  share  in  it. 

Finlay  was  to  rejoin  Rob  Macbain,  and  thereafter 
the  two  were  to  take  posts  in  the  Chanter  Corrie.  Next 
day  Duncan,  Hector,  and  Angus,  with  spades  and  picks 
and  plenty  of  provender  for  the  party,  would  join  them 
in  the  afternoon.  A  simple  code  of  signals  was  ar- 
ranged, and  to  every  man  was  assigned  a  watching- 
post.  Hector  and  Angus  were  to  spy  the  northern  ap- 
proach, while  the  others,  distributed  in  the  Corrie, 
waited  until  our  arrival  by  way  of  Glen  Dee.  The 
strictest  secrecy  was  laid  on  them,  but  they  were  in- 
structed to  make  it  known  to  all  and  sundry  that  Keene- 
Leslie  and  I  were  leaving  for  the  South  by  the  after- 
noon train  next  day. 

''You  will  see,  Duncan,  that  all  take  their  rifles. 
They  may  have  to  use  them,"  I  said. 

Duncan  nodded.  "Very  good,  sir,*'  said  he,  as  com- 
posedly as  if  he  had  been  asked  to  arrange  a  morning's 
ferreting;  but  after  I  had  taken  him  aside  and  given 
him  fuller  instructions,  his  eyes  met  mine  with  under- 
standing and  his  mouth  was  set  hard. 

After  they  left,  Tony  and  I  walked  down  to  the 
village,  where,  by  telephone,  I  engaged  the  car  and  a 
chauffeur  to  meet  us  with  the  guide  at  the  Stag  Hotel 
on  the  arrival  of  our  train  at  Ardgarry.  On  our  way 
back  to  The  Bield,  near  the  lodge,  a  boy  on  a  bicycle 
overtook  us.  He  was  the  bearer  of  a  note  for  me. 

"From  the  doctor,  Tony,"  I  said  when  I  had  read 
it.  "I  asked  him  to  dine  with  us  to-night,  but,  much 
to  his  annoyance,  a  visit  to  a  country  patient  makes 
his  acceptance  impossible.  He  says,  however,  that  he 
will  look  us  up  after  dinner  if  he  gets  back  in  time. 


THE  SEARCHERS  213 

And  that  reminds  me.  Are  we  to  take  him  into  our 
confidence?" 

Tony  considered  for  a  moment. 

"Well,  I  recognise  that  he  is  amicus  curia,  and  he 
certainly  might  be  useful  if  there  was  any  blood-let- 
ting up  in  the  Corrie.  But  that  would  mean  asking 
him  to  come  with  us,  and  we  can't  very  well  suggest 
to  him  to  share  a  risky  job  which  is  no  business  of 
his.  Besides,  I  am  all  for  secrecy.  There  are  five 
men  (not  counting  ourselves)  in  the  know  already. 
The  fewer  the  better,  to  my  mind.  On  the  whole,  I 
don't  see  why  any  one  except  the  actual  participants 
in  the  scrap — if  it  comes  off — should  know  anything 
about  it." 

I  agreed.  After  all,  it  was  our  affair.  The  doctor, 
although  no  doubt  much  interested,  would  have  no 
reason  to  be  offended  if  he  afterwards  discovered  that 
we  had  hesitated  to  subject  him  to  unnecessary  risks. 

Dry,  sunny,  weather  in  the  afternoon  promised  well 
for  our  adventure  next  day.  The  branches  of  the 
trees  tossing  lightly  in  a  fresh  wind  beckoned  us  out 
of  doors.  By  consent,  further  discussion  of  the  event- 
ful to-morrow  was  tabooed.  The  map  of  the  hills  was 
rolled  up,  our  oft-conned  half  of  the  paper  pocketed, 
and  a  brisk  three  hours'  walk  over  the  moor  in  the 
fine  June  weather  gave  our  minds  and  bodies  a  much- 
needed  tonic.  I  sat  down  to  dinner  that  evening  in 
better  spirits  than  I  had  known  since  the  colonel's 
death. 

The  doctor  came  in  afterwards  and  we  chatted  over 
our  cigars  for  an  hour.  He  was  surprised  to  hear  of 
our  proposed  departure  next  day. 

"Your  affair,  of  course,"  he  said;  "but  I  think  it's 
a  pity  you  can't  remain  for  a  few  days.  I'm  convinced 


£i4  THE  SEARCHERS 

that  the  man  whose  footprints  we  saw  in  the  Africa 
Wood  is  somewhere  near,  and  will  be  found." 

"You're  probably  right,  doctor,"  Keene-Leslie  an- 
swered. "Indeed,  I  go  further.  I  think  that  you  arc 
certainly  right,  and  that  sooner  or  later  Mr.  Searcher 
will  be  found.  But  it  may  be  later  rather  than  sooner, 
and  Forbes  and  I  can't  remain  here  indefinitely." 

"I  understand.  But  it's  a  pity.  It's  hardly  prob- 
able that  the  man  will  turn  up  to  consult  me  again, 
is  it?" 

"I  doubt  it." 

"Still,  it  is  possible,  for,  like  most  criminals,  he 
shows  a  streak  of  stupidity.  It  has  evidently  never  oc- 
curred to  him  that  his  footprints  are  distinctive." 

"That  is  so.  To  change  his  boots  would  have  been 
an  elementary  precaution." 

"Yet  the  man  I  saw  looked  like  a  person  with  more 
than  one  pair !  However,  there's  no  more  to  be  done 
meanwhile  except  to  say  goodbye.  I'll  try  to  get 
back  from  my  round  in  time  to  see  you  off  and  hear  if 
you  have  any  news,  and  I'll  wire  you  at  once  if  any- 
thing turns  up,"  he  said,  and  rose  to  go. 

The  night  was  deliciously  cool  and  full  of  scents  of 
the  summer  dusk,  and  I  accompanied  him  as  far  as  the 
lodge.  I  had  not  covered  twenty  yards  of  the  way 
back  towards  the  house  when  I  fancied  that  I  heard  a 
rustle  in  the  shrubbery.  Eyes  and  ears  on  the  alert, 
I  slipped  into  the  shadow,  but  I  saw  nothing,  although 
twice  I  imagined  that  I  heard  a  stealthy  step.  For  a 
minute  or  two  I  waited,  listening,  but  the  only  sound 
that  broke  the  hush  of  the  night  was  the  mournful  call 
of  the  owls.  I  dismissed  the  incident  as  a  trick  of  the 
nerves,  and  returned  to  the  house. 

We  did  not  sit  up  late,  for  everything  was  now  in 
train,  and  the  next  day's  business  demanded  a  good 


THE  SEARCHERS  215 

night's  rest.  The  weather  signs  were  friendly.  My 
last  look  through  my  window  showed  me  the  country 
bathed  in  silver  moonlight,  so  bright  that  in  its  wiz- 
ardry the  sleeping  woods  round  The  Bield  looked  as 
if  cut  out  of  cardboard,  in  sharp  relief  against  a  clear 
and  starry  sky. 


CHAPTER  XXX 

NEXT  morning  tatters  of  mist,  high  up  on  the  Cairn- 
gorms, stirred  and  took  changing  shapes  like  smoke- 
puffs,  in  the  light  June  wind;  but  they  were  fleecy  as 
the  clouds  above  them,  for,  though  the  glass  had  fallen 
a  little,  sunlight  filled  the  sky  and  there  was  not  a 
stain  on  the  full-sailed  white  fleet  of  clouds,  signalling 
fair  weather,  in  stately  motion  across  the  blue. 

Duncan  and  his  men  had  started  early  by  different 
roads  for  the  Larig,  and  Tony  and  I  had  little  to  do 
in  the  way  of  final  preparation.  I  was  on  thorns  of 
impatience  and  excitement.  What  Keene-Leslie's  emo- 
tions were  no  man  could  have  told.  He  was  as  im- 
perturbable-looking as  an  Indian  sachem,  outwardly 
as  calm  as  I  was  unsettled,  and  at  luncheon  he  drank 
"Confusion  to  Sempronius!  We'll  do  more  than  de- 
serve success,  Neill  We'll  command  it!" 

In  the  afternoon  there  was  no  one  at  the  little  sta- 
tion except  two  or  three  dawdling  rustics.  We  took 
our  tickets  for  Edinburgh  and  London  respectively, 
and  the  station-master  found  an  empty  compartment 
for  us.  Just  as  the  train  started,  Dr.  Hall's  little  two- 
seater  came  swiftly  up  the  slope  of  the  country  road 
parallel  to  the  line.  The  doctor  had  evidently  been 
unable  to  get  back  from  his  long  round  of  country 
visits  in  time  to  see  us  off,  for  he  scanned  the  train, 
disappointment  on  his  brow;  but  I  waved  a  hand,  and 
was  in  time  to  see  him  signal  a  good-bye. 

Keene-Leslie  was  apparently  not  inclined  to  talk. 

216 


THE  SEARCHERS  217 

He  stared  stonily  at  the  country-side,  and  I  fancied 
there  was  now  a  hint  of  anxiety  in  his  eye. 

"Cheer  up,  Tony,"  I  said,  with  a  laugh  meant  to 
mask  my  own  concern.  "You're  a  bit  under  the 
weather,  surely!" 

"Maybe!  By  nature  I  am  neither  a  pessimist  nor 
a  fatalist,  and  I  don't  think  I  am  unduly  careful  of  my 
skin,  but  I  believe  that  the  two  of  us  will  see  some 
queer  things  in  the  next  forty-eight  hours." 

"But  we  hold  good  cards." 

"We  do;  but" — he  shrugged  his  shoulders — "you 
never  can  tell." 

"Do  you  think  that  'The  Searcher'  smells  a  rat?" 

"No!  On  the  contrary,  I  think  that  our  little  trap 
will  give  him  the  surprise  of  his  life!  But  as  soon 
as  he  scents  danger,  look  out!  However,  there's  no 
good  in  picking  ourselves  up  before  we  tumble.  I'm 
going  to  forget  about  it  for  an  hour  or  so.  Let's  dis- 
miss the  subject  until  we  get  to  Ardgarry." 

He  lit  a  cigar  and  opened  his  newspaper.  I  fol- 
lowed his  example,  but  could  not  galvanise  myself  in- 
to any  interest  in  current  affairs.  After  ten  minutes' 
mental  confusion,  I  laid  down  the  paper  and  looked 
out  on  the  familiar  surroundings.  A  burst  of  sun- 
shine lit  the  landscape ;  the  river  was  in  half-spate,  rich 
in  magic  gradations  of  light  and  colour;  amber  depths 
starred  with  bells  of  foam;  shallows  where  the  sun- 
sparks  glittered;  still  mirrors  of  pools  under  the  banks; 
here  and  there  the  snowy  dazzle  of  a  check  in  mid- 
current.  The  tranquil  green  valley  looked  a  thousand 
leagues  away  from  dark  adventure.  Through  some 
refraction  in  the  atmosphere,  the  mountains  which  I 
knew  so  well  and  which  were  now  to  be  revisited  on 
so  strange  a  quest,  held  the  illusion  of  near- 
ness; the  shoulders  of  these  neighbourly  giants  were 


218  THE  SEARCHERS 

playgrounds  of  cloud-shadows,  the  lines  of  their  fast- 
nesses softened  and  mellowed  in  the  sunlit  distance;  and 
high  up,  near  the  crest  of  Braeriach,  a  snowdrift  linger- 
ing in  a  hidden  corrie,  caught  by  a  vagrant  sun-ray, 
gleamed  with  the  splendour  of  a  lonely  star.  In  the 
sincerity  and  the  majesty  of  these  high  places,  man's 
puny  spider-webs  of  evil  seemed  remote  and  futile. 
Yet  evil  there  was,  watchful,  resourceful,  near  at  hand. 

At  the  thought  I  lifted  my  eyes  again  to  the  uplands, 
and  as  I  looked  a  shadow  crept  into  the  sky.  The  sun 
withdrew.  The  serrations  of  the  hills  were  dislimned, 
and  the  great  star  of  snow  dulled  and  vanished. 

Keene-Leslie  was  absorbed  in  his  newspaper.  Be- 
yond a  glance  now  and  then  out  of  the  window,  and 
a  growl  at  the  fickleness  of  the  day,  his  demeanour 
was  irritably  stolid.  Not  once  did  he  refer  to  our 
mission,  and  after  one  or  two  fruitless  attempts  at 
conversation,  I  relapsed  into  silence,  staring  at  the 
snow-fence  slipping  past  as  we  neared  the  smooth  tops 
at  the  summit  of  the  Drumochter  Pass,  and  for  the 
thousandth  time  linking  together  the  chain  of  events 
of  the  last  few  months,  tormenting  myself  with  the 
thought  that  our  plans  might  come  to  naught,  and  our 
adversary  and  the  secret  slip  through  the  net  at  the 
last  moment. 

The  inaction  of  the  journey  chafed  me,  and  I  was 
heartily  glad  when  the  summit  was  reached  and  the 
train  gathered  speed  down  the  gradient.  Here  the 
outlook  became  less  wild.  Brown  empty  moors  gave 
place  to  the  charm  of  woods;  a  great  Highland  castle 
reared  its  stately  head  amidst  the  trees;  smoke  rose 
from  the  haunts  of  men.  There  were  few  people  at 
Ardgarry  station — some  countryfolk  back  from  the 
market;  a  bagman  or  two;  a  handful  of  nondescripts. 
We  kept  a  wary  eye  for  any  one  who  might  have  been 


THE  SEARCHERS  219 

dogging  us,  but  saw  nothing  to  rouse  the  slightest 
suspicion  and  after  the  train  left,  we  made  our  way 
down  the  quiet  street  to  the  Stag  Hotel,  where  the 
car  and  the  chauffeur  were  waiting  in  the  courtyard. 
Malcolm  Cameron,  the  guide  with  whom  I  had 
tramped  many  a  mile  in  the  solitudes  of  the  Cairn- 
gorms, was  there  also,  and  five  minutes  sufficed  to 
instruct  that  hardy  Gael  in  what  was  required  of  him. 

"All  speed  to  the  top  o'  the  Pass,  Mr.  Neil?" 

"That's  it,  Malcolm.  I'll  tell  you  the  rest  as  we  go 
along.  Meanwhile,  let  the  chauffeur  know  that  we  are 
out  for  a  tramp  in  the  hills,  and  that  we  are  in  a 
hurry." 

"Tha  mi  'tuigsinn"  ("I  understand"),  said  he. 

A  few  minutes  after  four  o'clock  we  swung  out  of 
the  village.  Taking  no  risks  of  espionage,  I  ordered 
the  driver  to  run  southward,  and  after  three  or  four 
miles  had  been  covered,  told  him  that  we  had  changed 
our  minds.  By  a  road  on  our  left  we  doubled  back, 
and  in  a  few  minutes,  under  the  spell  of  a  liberal  tip, 
the  driver  was  exceeding  the  speed-limit  up  the  wild 
and  beautiful  Glen  Tilt,  through  a  fine  forest  flanking 
both  sides  of  the  road.  Far  below  us,  the  river, 
broken  here  and  there  by  glittering  cascades,  hurried 
over  its  curiously  bright  and  polished  channel  to  swell 
the  music  of  the  Garry.  The  road  steepened  as  the 
car  began  to  climb  the  valley  and  we  neared  the  green 
mass  of  Beinn  a'Ghlo.  Here  we  drew  up  near  the 
Lodge,  a  thousand  feet  above  sea-level,  girt  about  by 
great  rugged  hills.  These  rose  on  every  side,  Beinn 
a'Ghlo  and  Carn  nan  Gabhar  towering  on  our  right, 
to  the  northward  stern  slopes  unrelieved  by  a  touch 
of  colour,  and  beyond,  as  far  as  the  eye  could  view, 
hills  stretching,  billow  upon  billow,  to  the  Mar  country 
and  the  great  southern  gateway  of  the  Cairngorms. 


220  THE  SEARCHERS 

The  car  was  sent  back,  for  the  road  now  dwindled 
to  a  bridle-path,  and  Keene-Leslie  and  I  turned  eagerly 
towards  the  narrowing  riband  of  track  pointing  towards 
the  wilds. 

"What  lies  beyond?"  said  Tony,  his  eyes  on  the 
inscrutable  heights.  The  words  gave  voice  to  my  own 
thoughts. 

"Come  no  farther,  pigmies!  What  seek  ye?  We 
have  our  ancient  secrets.  They  are  ours,  not  yours. 
Come  no  farther!"  Thus  might  some  spirit  of  the 
wilds  have  greeted  us. 

"You  are  off  on  one  of  your  mystical  flights,  Neil," 
said  Tony. 

"I  can't  help  it.  I  was  born  in  the  shadow  of  the 
mountains,  my  friend.  I  have  drunk  of  the  magic 
heather  ale." 

"See!"  said  Tony,  pointing  to  the  skyline.  "Your 
mood  has  infected  me.  Your  Cairngorms  look  like 
the  rim  of  another  world.  Their  'Come  no  farther!' 
is  a  challenge.  En  avant!" 

He  hitched  up  his  rucksack,  and  the  three  of  us 
struck  the  track  towards  the  mountains.  A  cool, 
westerly  breeze  was  blowing,  and  although  there  were 
a  covey  or  two  of  clouds  flying  rather  low,  the  even- 
ing was  pleasant  enough  for  our  tramp.  The  stream 
rumbling  below  was  the  only  sound,  except  our  foot- 
steps and  the  wind's  voice  strengthening  as  the  ascent 
steepened  to  the  Falls  of  Tarf,  fifteen  hundred  feet  up. 
Then  the  track  fell  to  the  country  march  and  Glen  Tilt 
was  left  behind.  The  face  of  the  country  became 
wilder  as  we  neared  Glen  Ey  deer  forest,  where  my 
eye  caught  the  dark  green  of  a  little  company  of  trees 
in  a  fold  of  the  uplands,  and  set  in  their  midst,  un- 
speakably lonely  in  the  frowning  wilderness,  the  grey 
gable  of  a  house. 


CHAPTER  XXXI 

THE  house  was  the  Bynack  Shieling,  a  remote  little 
outpost  in  the  Forest  of  Mar.  As  there  were  thin, 
clammy  vapours  hanging  in  wisps  over  the  now  cool- 
ing earth,  we  decided  to  call  a  halt  there,  rather  than 
bivouac  under  the  sky  up  the  Pass;  but  when  we  ar- 
rived at  the  Shieling  we  found' the  windows  shuttered 
and  the  doors  locked.  No  answer  came  to  our  knock- 
ing, and  there  was  an  ominous  absence  of  smoke  from 
the  chimneys.  But  there  is  an  unwritten  law  among 
the  hill-folk.  Hospitable  as  Arabs,  they  turn  no  wan- 
derer from  their  doors.  If  one  of  them  is  from  home 
and  his  house  barred,  his  friends  who  chance  that  way 
know  where  they  may  rest  and  shelter  in  his  absence. 
With  a  confidence  which  suggested  that  he  had  been 
there  before,  Malcolm  led  us  to  a  bothy  at  the  back 
of  the  Shieling — disused,  bare  of  furniture,  but  clean — 
and  took  possession  of  it  as  a  matter  of  course.  He  van- 
ished for  a  few  minutes,  to  reappear — old  campaigner! 
— with  armfuls  of  hay  from  the  stable  and  peats  from 
the  stack.  The  rucksacks  produced  sandwiches  and 
thermos  flasks;  the  hay  was  eider-down;  peats  were 
quickly  blazing  in  the  great  fireplace;  blue  haze  of  to- 
bacco rose  to  the  rafters.  But  we  had  little  time  to 
spare  for  talk  or  tobacco,  and,  having  left  Malcolm 
on  sentry-go,  soon  were  stretched  luxuriously  on  the 
hay,  boots  off,  with  our  feet  to  the  fire — the  drowsy 
gabble  of  the  Bynack  Burn  near  the  house  the  only 
sound  in  the  night. 

221 


322  THE  SEARCHERS 

About  ten  o'clock,  when  Malcolm  roused  us,  I  was 
thankful  to  see  moonlight  flooding  the  little  room,  for 
the  passage  of  the  Larig  in  the  dark  is  a  venture  with 
more  than  a  spice  of  danger.  The  moon  was  riding 
clear,  and  the  June  dawn  in  these  latitudes  would  greet 
us  early.  To  make  the  most  of  the  light,  without  de- 
lay we  started  off  at  a  good  pace  through  the  young 
heather  beyond  the  Shieling,  and  after  the  meeting  of 
the  Bynack  and  the  Geldie  Burns,  having  skirted  the 
base  of  Carn  Geldie,  we  entered  the  threshold  of  the 
Cairngorms,  where  the  young  Dee  was  scampering 
coltishly  round  its  boulders.  It  was  easily  crossed  on 
stepping-stones,  and  soon  we  struck  the  hill-track  and 
faced  the  climb  up  the  wild  Glen. 

Malcolm,  who  knew  every  inch  of  the  way,  was  in 
front.  Now  and  then  he  would  throw  us  a  warning 
or  a  direction  over  his  shoulder,  for,  though  the  night 
was  moonlight,  mists  were  marshalling  on  the  heights, 
and  the  Glen  was  full  of  shadows.  Between  the  dark 
and  the  danger  of  a  twisted  ankle  when  tramping  over 
multitudinous  stones,  in  the  quaint  speech  of  our  guide, 
we  "cam'  nae  speed  ava',"  but  we  climbed  doggedly 
on,  passing  Beinn  Bhrotain  and  the  great  gap  of  Glen 
Geusachan,  until  we  were  eighteen  hundred  feet  up, 
amidst  an  unearthly  silence,  near  the  grim  peak  named 
"The  Devil's  Point." 

Great  mountains  now  loomed  up,  tier  upon  tier,  on 
every  side,  far  as  the  eye  could  reach,  the  moonlight 
lending  their  misty  masses  a  strange  and  spectral 
glamour.  There  was  beauty  and  terror  in  the  Pass 
as  I  beheld  it  that  night — beauty  in  the  moonbeams 
etherealising  the  stark  masses  of  the  mountains;  terror 
when  the  icy  brilliance  of  the  night,  suddenly  tarnished 
by  passing  clouds,  dissolved  into  a  leaguer  of  inky 
shadows  and  the  wild  dark  setting  suggested  Walpur- 


THE  SEARCHERS  223 

gis  Night  on  the  Brocken.  To  me  the  mists  seemed 
to  be  weaving  and  unweaving  sombre  alleys  and  hiding- 
places  where  evil,  secret  things  and  unspeakable  crea- 
tures of  eld  could  hide  and  linger.  The  Forbidding 
Pass  earned  its  name.  I  peopled  its  recesses  with  a 
thousand  lurking  presences  and  things  unutterable, 
deadly  legacies  of  ancient  peoples  and  their  unholy 
primordial  rites;  and  these  fantasies  were  aided  by  a 
Voice,  the  strange,  steady,  tireless  harping  of  the  wind, 
which  is  rarely  still  in  the  high  places  of  the  Cairn- 
gorms, now  like  a  long  sigh  through  swaying  pines, 
now  like  the  wash  of  seas  on  distant  shingle;  now  pre- 
tending to  die  down,  now  rising  again  in  a  derisive 
halloo  through  the  funnels  of  the  ravines ;  never  at  rest. 
Over  three  miles  still  lay  between  us  and  the 
Chanter  Corrie.  Terraces  of  moraine,  granite  boul- 
ders, acres  of  huge  stones  barred  the  way,  and,  to  add 
to  these  grinding  discomforts,  a  treacherous  darken- 
ing of  the  moon  brought  us  to  a  standstill.  When  the 
cloud  lifted,  the  going  was  intolerably  slow  in  the 
half-light,  but  at  last  we  came  upon  a  stalker's  shelter 
hut — the  Corrour  bothy — one  of  the  loneliest  roofs  in 
Britain.  Malcolm  knocked,  and  the  inmate  rose  and 
offered  us  hospitality.  It  was  given  with  fine  natural 
courtesy,  and  he  was  plainly  disappointed  when  I  told 
him  that  we  only  wished  to  rest  for  a  little.  Too  well- 
mannered  to  ask  any  questions,  he  kept  his  birthright 
of  tact,  but  on  his  face  was  written  that  the  ways  of 
wandering  townsfolk  who  preferred  darkness  to  day- 
light were  beyond  comprehension.  The  good  fellow 
lit  his  lamp,  got  out  the  kettle,  and  wanted  to  kindle 
the  peats.  It  almost  required  force  to  restrain  him; 
and  when  he  compromised  on  the  offer  by  producing 
excellent  oatcakes  and  mutton-ham,  he  did  so  with 


224  THE  SEARCHERS 

such  obvious  goodwill  that  it  would  have  been  impolite 
to  refuse. 

It  was  still  dark,  but  a  faint,  scarcely  perceptible 
brightness  was  stealing  into  the  east  when  we  set  out 
again.  The  next  two  miles  in  face  of  a  stinging  wind, 
were  trying,  but  the  first  streak  of  day  was  now  touch- 
ing the  sky-line,  we  were  nearing  our  journey's  end, 
and  much  to  our  relief,  the  wind  gradually  died  down. 
In  this  respite  the  swirling  mists  steadied  and  began  to 
mass  together.  Now  and  again,  between  their  un- 
canny, silent  movements  we  caught  glimpses  of  great 
rock  bastions,  sombre  and  forbidding,  a  hint  of  the 
gaunt  wilderness  awaiting  us.  In  a  few  minutes  the 
mists  sank  down,  to  hang  heavy  and  motionless,  dis- 
limning  everything  over  a  hundred  feet  above  us.  I 
had  visions  of  delay  and  dislocation  of  our  plans,  for 
Malcolm,  who  was  making  the  pace  a  cracking  one 
over  the  interminable  stones,  had  outdistanced  us;  but 
a  shout  from  him  hurried  us  forward,  and  we  came 
upon  him  waiting  beside  one  of  the  stone-men — all 
thanks  to  the  thoughtful  hands  that  set  them  up — 
which  mark  the  track  over  two  thousand  feet  up. 

Here  we  turned  from  the  Pass  and  struck  into  the 
wilds  on  our  left.  The  mist  clothed  the  hills  almost 
to  their  feet,  but  we  followed  the  thread  of  a  burn 
and  at  last  found  ourselves  near  a  huge  granite  spur 
called,  in  the  Gaelic,  An  Riidan  ("The  Knuckle"), 
one  of  the  ends  of  the  horse-shoe  entrance  to  the 
Chanter  Corrie.  There  was  just  the  chance  of  our 
quarry  having  arrived  before  us,  but,  the  mist  favour- 
ing us,  under  its  cloak  we  went  forward  cautiously  and 
silently  into  the  Corrie  until,  high  up  on  the  slope  we 
found  a  big  boulder  where,  unseen,  we  could  spy  all 
avenues. 

The  pallor  in  the  east  was  slowly  spreading  as  we 


THE  SEARCHERS  225 

took  cover,  but  daylight,  delayed  by  the  mists,  was 
barely  on  the  threshold  and  in  the  dimness  spying  was 
impossible.  We  could  not  make  anything  out  with  cer- 
tainty beyond  a  hundred  yards. 

"So  far,  so  good!"  said  Tony,  as  he  discarded  his 
rucksack.  "By  this  time  all  our  men  are  posted,  and 
it's  a  hundred  to  one  that  'The  Searcher'  hasn't  tackled 
the  Larig  alone  in  the  dark.  If  he  intends  to  come 
to-day  (and  I  think  he  will)  he  is  probably  lying  low 
in  Glenmore  or  in  Rothiemurchus  Forest  until  daylight. 
Lord  send  us  a  clear  morning!" 

We  tossed  for  the  post  of  watcher  for  the  first 
half-hour.  It  fell  to  me.  My  companions  made  them- 
selves as  comfortable  as  they  could  on  the  ground, 
with  their  rucksacks  as  pillows  and  their  revolvers  be- 
side them,  and  were  soon  asleep. 

Peering  over  the  boulder  I  watched  the  coming  of 
the  dawn  in  a  silence  fretted  only  by  the  whisper  of  a 
light  air  searching  the  Corrie,  the  muffled  voices  of  un- 
seen waters  and  once,  the  lonely  scream  of  an  eagle, 
harsh  and  pitiless. 

A  vast  curtain  of  mist  confronted  me,  moving  so 
slowly  that  at  first  the  eye  hardly  marked  its  move- 
ment. It  swung  gently  in  the  light  wind,  and  above 
its  thousand  feet,  by  a  strange  caprice  of  the  air-cur- 
rents, the  high  tops  of  the  mountains  were  revealed 
like  unearthly  islets  in  an  unearthly  sea.  Slowly  the 
sky  paled.  The  stars  waned  and  melted.  On  the  ridge 
of  one  of  the  islets  in  the  skyland  a  tiny  orange  spark 
glowed  for  a  moment,  grew  to  a  hand's  breadth,  and 
crept  steadily  along  until  the  ridge  was  edged  by  a 
trenchant  hieroglyph  of  fire.  As  I  watched,  the  streak 
of  colour  lengthened,  the  selvage  of  the  mist  wavered 
and  its  swinging  curtain  lost  something  of  its  density. 
I  had  turned  for  a  moment  or  two  towards  my  sleeping 


226  THE  SEARCHERS 

companions,  and  when  I  looked  up  again  a  spear-head 
of  granite  was  thrust  through  a  huge  rent  in  the  mist. 
But  another  moment,  the  dark  arras  was  riven  apart, 
and  the  Corrie  unveiled. 

You  are  to  picture  the  great  cul-de-sac  in  the  wilds, 
its  ramparts  scarred  by  the  tempests  of  ages,  seamed 
by  innumerable  channels,  now  dry  in  a  spell  of  summer 
heat,  but  throughout  most  of  the  year  filling  the  Cor- 
rie with  the  steady  call  of  hoarse  and  menacing  voices. 
Summer  and  winter,  gloom  holds  the  place  in  thrall. 
The  streamers  of  mist  which  linger  out  of  the  wind  are 
powerless  to  soften  its  inhuman  contour.  The  stream 
creeps  almost  furtively  out  of  it.  Green  blade  never 
relieves  its  dark  panoply;  no  path  invites  pursuit,  for 
the  Corrie  leads  only  to  the  scowling  face  of  a  preci- 
pice which  rises,  stark  and  unscalable,  a  sheer  thousand 
feet;  high  up  on  its  forehead  an  arrow-head  of  white, 
in  strange  contrast  to  its  black  matrix,  for  the  lonely 
place  is  avoided  even  by  the  sun,  and  all  the  year  round 
snow  finds  sanctuary  in  the  cold  heart  of  Coire  an 
t-Oranaiche. 

I  awoke  the  two  sleepers,  a  sense  of  isolation  hav- 
ing suddenly  encompassed  me.  It  was  as  though  an 
invisible  gate  between  us  and  the  world  had  been  noise- 
lessly closed. 

The  hill-country  around  The  Bield  in  Glen  Ciuin  is 
humanised  by  many  kindly  and  familiar  things;  peat- 
reek  rising  from  the  shielings,  the  solace  of  woods, 
specks  of  sheep  in  the  distance,  and  the  green  of  cul- 
tivated land.  But  man  has  never  touched  the  un- 
tamed heights  around  the  Corrie.  No  trace  of  his 
handiwork  shows  on  its  scarred  fronts.  The  effect 
of  the  scene  disclosed  was  as  though  we  had  been 
suddenly  awakened  in  some  secret  land,  grim,  elemen- 
tal, yet  invested  with  a  strange  and  savage  dignity.  I 


THE  SEARCHERS  227 

hate  the  place,  but  I  own  its  magnetism.  To  me  it  re- 
calls in  some  strange  way  the  sense  of  cruel  strength  in 
presentments  of  pagan  gods  and  great  emperors  of 
old,  something  derived  from  the  dim  past,  the  unnum- 
bered ages  which  its  brute  static  masses  had  watched 
and  defied  and  outlasted. 

In  the  centre  of  the  hollow  was  a  rock-pillar  about 
fifty  feet  high,  its  detachment  from  the  disordered 
masses  of  detritus  sprawling  round  its  base  suggesting 
something  more  than  loneliness,  almost,  to  my  fancy, 
ostracism.  Probably  the  pillar's  shape  (not  unlike  the 
chanter  of  the  bag-pipe)  suggested  the  Corrie's  name, 
but  the  hill-men,  over  the  peat-fires  o'  nights,  whisper 
that  the  wind,  when  in  a  certain  quarter,  wails  as  though 
the  Devil  himself  played  his  chanter  there.  The  fan- 
tasy fits  the  place.  To  this  day  I  "grue"  at  the  thought 
of  it — a  spot  apart,  accursed-looking,  inimical  to  life. 


CHAPTER  XXXII 

THE  sun  took  no  gallant  stride  into  his  own  that 
morning.  The  opening  of  his  bloodshot  eye  was  more 
like  daybreak  in  mid  December  than  in  June. 

Burning  fringes  of  clouds,  lance-heads  of  fitful 
flame  piercing  the  smoking  mists  round  the  high  tops, 
strange  warring  splashes  of  black  and  crimson, 
wrought  an  effect  as  of  a  huge  chromatic  error  in  the 
sky.  There  was  something  sinister  and  minatory  in 
it,  the  suggestion  of  an  unseen,  watchful  Evil,  the 
eternal  struggle  behind  the  veil  between  the  Powers  of 
light  and  darkness.  But  the  sun  steadily  gained 
strength  and  though  the  cloud-battalions  retreated 
stubbornly,  fighting  every  yard,  at  last  they  wavered 
and  broke.  Triumphant  Day  drew  a  deep  breath  as 
the  light  streamed  down  to  the  valleys. 

Where  we  lay  we  commanded  the  view  of  the  Cor- 
rie's  entrance,  sentinelled  on  our  right  by  The  Knuckle, 
on  our  left  by  a  slope  leading  up  to  a  steep  granite  es- 
calade, well-named  in  the  Gaelic  Faradh  ' ghobhar 
("The  Goats'  Ladder"),  and  beyond  it  a  section  of 
the  Pass,  its  background  the  red  mass  of  Ben  Muich- 
dhui,  in  striking  contrast  to  the  black  stern  precipices 
of  Braeriach  behind  us. 

Once  or  twice  a  curious  sound  like  the  winding  of  a 
far-off  salmon-reel — the  chirr-r  of  the  ptarmigan — 
reached  us,  but  we  knew  it  came  from  Duncan.  It 
was  a  pre-arranged  signal,  to  tell  us  that  our  men  were 
all  posted  and  ready.  Duncan  and  Finlay  were  in 

228 


THE  SEARCHERS  229 

, 

a  hollow  over  the  ridge  on  the  crest  of  The  Knuckle, 
Rob  Macbain  four  or  five  hundred  yards  higher  up  on 
their  right,  while  Matheson  and  Angus  half-a-mile 
away  on  our  left,  watched  The  Pass  to  the  north. 

Spying  was  now  possible,  and  almost  at  once  I  saw 
something  stirring  in  the  waste  below  Ben  Muichdhui. 
It  proved  to  be  a  herd  of  deer,  moving  quickly.  In  a 
minute  or  two  they  stopped  and  turned  head  to  wind. 
Plainly,  something  had  alarmed  them,  for  they  bunched 
together  restlessl),  while  a  big  stag — the  leader  of 
the  herd — kept  a  wary  lookout  above  them.  Suddenly 
the  sentinel  wheeled  round  and  trotted  down  to  the 
main  body,  when  they  all  went  off  at  a  great  pace,  and 
swinging  abruptly  to  the  east,  disappeared  over  a 
ridge.  Eagerly  we  spied  for  signs  of  the  cause  of  their 
manifest  disquiet,  but  the  mountain-side  was  empty. 

"If  there's  any  one  there,  he  is  taking  cover  or  com- 
ing down  one  of  the  corries,"  said  Keene-Leslie,  his 
eye  glued  to  his  glass.  Presently  a  couple  of  brace 
of  ptarmigan  shot  across  the  Pass  in  quick  succession. 
Ten  minutes  passed  while  our  glasses  ranged  the  dis- 
tances. Happening  to  look  at  Macbain's  hiding-place, 
I  caught  sight  of  the  crook  of  his  staff  showing  cau- 
tiously above  the  rock  where  he  was  posted — a  signal 
that  he  had  something  to  communicate.  I  told  Tony, 
and  with  our  glasses  we  picked  out  Macbain  behind 
the  rock.  He  pointed  towards  the  base  of  Ben  Muich- 
dhui. We  had  not  looked  for  an  approach  from  that 
quarter,  but  Macbain  was  high  up  and  had  keen 
stalker's  eyes.  After  a  few  seconds'  spying  I  caught 
my  breath,  for  my  glass  revealed  beyond  doubt,  the 
figure  of  a  man,  moving  along  the  lip  of  a  gully  be- 
tween the  Ben  and  the  Pass.  Against  the  dark  back- 
ground of  the  rock-face,  he  was  difficult  to  follow,  but 
when  he  came  to  a  scree  strewn  with  lighter-coloured 


230  THE  SEARCHERS 

granite  he  leaped  into  clearer  focus — a  tall  man  pick- 
ing his  way  leisurely  among  the  boulders.  He  halted 
for  a  moment,  looked  about  him,  and  began  to  clamber 
down  the  gully  until  we  lost  sight  of  him. 

"Didn't  expect  to  see  anybody  from  that  quarter, 
Neil.  A  wandering  tourist,  maybe  1"  was  Tony's  com- 
ment. "We'll  soon  find  out,  for  he  is  prob?.bly  heading 
this  way." 

We  had  not  to  wait  long,  for  the  solitary  man  sud- 
denly reappeared  and  again  halted.  I  got  him  in  a 
good  light,  and  could  see  him  looking  around  him  de- 
liberately once  more,  as  if  taking  his  bearings.  He 
was  too  far  away  for  me  to  seize  any  details,  but  soon 
he  started  again,  and  a  light-grey  patch  threw  him  into 
sharp  relief.  He  showed  for  an  instant  or  two  only, 
but  long  enough  for  me  to  make  out  a  tall  figure. 
Tingling  with  excitement — for  I  was  certain  that  I 
had  seen  him  before — I  steadied  the  glass  and  fol- 
lowed his  progress.  The  man  came  straight  on,  with 
no  attempt  at  concealment.  Soon  he  stepped  into  a 
clear  pool  of  the  young  sunlight,  and  in  an  instant  I 
recognised  my  jailer  of  No.  9  Duff  Avenue,  the  leader 
of  the  gang  who  had  kidnapped  me  in  London ! 

"Our  man,  Tony,"  I  whispered  with  grim  elation. 
"'The  Searcher'!  Guidotti!" 

Keene-Leslie  watched  him  through  his  glasses,  and 
made  no  reply  for  a  long  time.  At  last  he  turned  to 
me.  "This  is  interesting,  Neil.  But  I'm  puzzled." 

"Puzzled?" 

"Yes.  I  confess  I  looked  for  somebody  else,  some 
one  bearing  no  resemblance  to  the  amiable  Guidotti. 
.  ..  .  He  may  have  an  accomplice.  I  wonder !  .  .  . 
He  seems  profoundly  interested  in  mountain  scenery. 
He  is  using  a  field-glass." 

Sure  enough,   Guidotti  was  spying,   and  with  care 


THE  SEARCHERS  231 

and  deliberation.  Well  out  of  sight  round  the  corner 
of  the  boulder,  we  watched  his  every  movement. 

Suddenly  he  dropped  to  the  ground,  instantly  to  re- 
sume his  spying,  keeping  his  glass  steadily  on  the  Pass 
to  the  north. 

We  turned  our  glasses  to  the  foot  of  The  Goats' 
Ladder,  and  almost  at  the  same  instant  picked  up  a 
dark  speck  out  of  colour  with  its  granite-strewn  base 
— a  deer,  or  perhaps  a  mere  trick  of  the  eye,  I  thought, 
until  the  speck  moved.  It  was  a  man,  and,  unlike  the 
first-comer,  he  was  covering  the  ground  quickly.  He 
never  halted  for  a  breathing-space,  but  rounded  the 
foot  of  the  Ladder  a'id  came  steadily  on  towards  us. 
After  a  long  look,  Keene-Leslie  lowered  his  glass. 

"At  the  rate  he  is  going,"  said  he,  "the  new-comer 
will  be  here  in  a  quarter  of  an  hour,  and  friend  Gui- 
dotti,  who  is  watching  him,  will  probably  join  him. 
Have  your  revolver  ready." 

The  man  never  slackened  his  steady  rate  of  pro- 
gress, the  hidden  watcher  covering  him  all  the  time 
with  his  glass,  while  we  spied  them  both.  Ever  on- 
wards he  pressed,  with  hardly  a  glance  to  right  or 
left.  Guidotti  now  commenced  to  follow  him  stealth- 
ily, crouching  behind  boulder  after  boulder.  On  came 
the  new-comer,  manifestly  unconscious  of  the  eyes 
watching  him  in  the  lonely  wilderness.  Whoever  he 
was,  this  was  no  hill-climber  out  for  pleasure,  but  a 
man  plainly  in  a  hurry  and  making  for  a  definite  ob- 
jective. Leaden  minutes  crawled  by  before  the  range 
shortened  sufficiently  for  me  to  get  a  good  look  at  him. 
I  lowered  the  glass,  astonished  but  relieved,  and  looked 
at  Tony.  The  man  was  Dr.  Hall ! 

"He  is  looking  for  us.  Something  must  have  hap- 
pened. Shall  we  hail  him?"  I  whispered. 


232  THE  SEARCHERS 

"All  in  good  time,"  said  Tony,  his  eyes  glued  on 
the  two  men.  "Look!  He's  coming  towards  us." 

I  took  up  the  binocular  again.  The  doctor  was 
now  coming  up  the  slope  towards  the  Chanter.  Fifty 
yards  from  the  rock-pillar  he  halted,  his  eye  searching 
the  empty-looking  solitude.  What  he  did  not  see  was 
the  figure  behind  him,  crouched,  stealthy  as  a  panther, 
slipping,  a  foot  at  a  time,  from  boulder  to  boulder 
with  so  uncanny  a  skill  that  I  could  hardly  distinguish 
it  from  the  rocks.  The  shoulders  never  showed,  but 
every  now  and  then  an  inch  or  two  of  its  head  or  the 
white  of  its  watching  eye  told  me  that  it  was  creeping 
nearer,  and  I  knew,  with  a  strange  certainty,  that  the 
two  men  were  deadly  enemies. 

The  doctor  reached  the  Chanter,  where  he  halted 
and  stood  leaning  a  shoulder  against  it,  resting.  The 
pillar  was  now  between  him  and  the  watcher,  who 
instantly  seized  his  opportunity.  Swiftly  and  surely 
he  picked  his  way  to  within  thirty  yards  of  his  quarry, 
who,  all  unconscious  of  the  hidden  presence,  was  still 
standing  beside  the  pillar.  Then  Guidotti  rose  to  his 
full  height  and  stood  motionless  as  a  statue.  My 
heart  was  drumming.  Another  moment  and  I  should 
have  shouted  a  warning  to  the  doctor,  but  at  that 
instant  he  swung  round  and  the  two  men's  eyes  met. 
The  doctor  reeled  back,  his  hands  held  up  as  if  to  shut 
out  a  repellent  vision.  Not  a  word  passed;  Guidotti 
erect,  his  arms  folded,  a  scornful  and  Mephistophelian 
domination  in  his  eye;  the  doctor  swaying  slightly,  a 
steadying  hand  outstretched  to  the  rock,  his  face  grey 
and  shrunken.  With  a  dawning  sense  of  horror,  I  saw 
that  he  had  a  beaten  look. 

My  racing  thoughts  were  checked  by  a  quick  move- 
ment from  Guidotti.  Instantly  the  other  threw  up 
his  hands  and  held  them  above  his  head,  his  eyes  fixed 


THE  SEARCHERS  233* 

on  the  gleam  of  a  revolver  in  his  enemy's  hand.  The 
echo  of  a  laugh  floated  up  to  us.  A  few  seconds  passed, 
the  two  facing  one  another,  motionless.  .  .  .  Then 
the  covered  man  walked  forward  towards  the  tall  fig- 
ure, and  halted  in  front  of  him.  Guidotti,  revolver  still 
levelled,  deliberately  searched  his  captive.  I  saw  him 
take  something  from  him  and  in  the  stillness  we  caught, 
for  the  first  time,  the  sound  of  their  voices.  They  were 
too  far  off  for  UR  to  make  out  the  tenor  or  even  a  single 
phrase  of  what  passed  between  them,  and  there  was 
little,  in  the  strict  sense,  conversation,  for  the  tall 
man  dominated,  his  voice  level  but  insistent,  the  doctor 
speaking  at  rare  intervals. 

"I  would  give  a  good  deal  to  hear  what  courtesies 
are  passing,"  whispered  Tony. 

Suddenly  a  word  thrown  at  the  other  by  Guidotti 
rang  out  twice,  clearly  and  distinctly.  It  was  "Tradi- 
tore!"  and  in  a  second,  like  a  flash  of  lightning  at  black 
midnight,  the  truth  blazed  on  me.  I  knew,  and  the 
revelation  sent  a  current  of  ice  through  my  blood. 
Stabbed  into  my  brain  in  that  instant,  I  knew  that  uThe 
Searcher"  was  none  other  than  the  man  who  called 
himself  Dr.  Hall.  A  masterful  wave  of  wrath  almost 
lifted  me  to  my  feet,  but  Tony's  cool  and  steady  hand 
gripped  my  wrist,  and  there  was  a  triumphant  spark 
in  his  eye  as  he  bent  forward  and  whispered,  "Now  you 
know,  Neil!  But — steady!  And  fire  if  either  at- 
tempts to  bolt  or  resist  after  I  challenge  them.  See! 
They  are  moving.  They  can't  escape.  Our  men  will 
get  them  on  the  flanks,  but  when  they  discover  this — 
look  out  for  trouble." 

Guidotti,  revolver  in  hand,  was  walking  behind 
"The  Searcher."  They  had  reached  a  point  about 
half-way  between  the  Chanter  and  The  Knuckle  when 
the  man  in  front  stopped  and  pointed  to  The  Goats' 


234  THE  SEARCHERS 

Ladder.  Guidotti  gave  a  gesture  of  assent.  The 
two  turned  towards  The  Ladder  and  having  gained  the 
level  ground  by  the  burn,  crossed  it  by  some  stepping- 
stones. 

Their  detour  brought  them  near  where  we  lay,  and 
Guidotti's  voice,  borne  on  a  light  wind,  again  reached 
us.. 


CHAPTER  XXXIII 

"J  MAKE  uo,  bargain,"  were  the  words,  clear  and 
resolute,  carried  down-wind.  The  doctor  made  no 
reply  beyond  a  shrug  of  his  shoulders. 

The  two  men  moved  off  again,  and  although  the 
going  must  have  been  difficult,  they  were  rapidly  widen- 
ing the  distance  between  them  and  us.  Soon  the  re- 
ceding figures  disappeared  in  a  dip,  to  emerge  climbing 
a  scree  leading  towards  The  Ladder.  The  name — 
The  Goats'  Ladder — somewhat  exaggerates  the  cliff's 
character,  for  though  its  ascent  in  some  parts  means 
the  tackling  of  almost  sheer  rock-face,  it  is  not  really 
dangerous  to  a  climber  with  nerve  and  knowledge. 

At  the  head  of  the  scree  they  halted.  Guidotti 
pointed  up  the  Ladder,  and  "The  Searcher"  went  first, 
swinging  himself  easily  up  the  dark  escalade,  followed 
more  slowly  by  the  other  man.  "The  Searcher" 
climbed  quickly,  and  reached  the  parapet  when  the 
other  was  little  more  than  half-way.  Through  the 
glass  I  saw  him  gain  the  crest,  where  he  lay  down 
and  craned  over  the  edge.  Something  in  his  attitude 
as  he  crouched,  watching  the  climber  coming  up  foot 
by  foot,  riveted  my  eyes  on  him.  Now  he  was  kneel- 
ing, and  his  hands  were  busy. 

Tony  had  risen  to  his  feet  and  was  spying  intently. 
Suddenly  he  clutched  my  arm.  "My  God!  Look  I" 
came  from  him,  and  as  he  spoke  a  great  fragment  of 
rock  toppled  over.  The  climber  gave  one  swift  glance 
aloft,  and  threw  up  an  arm.  In  the  twinkling  of  an 

235 


236  THE  SEARCHERS 

eye  the  murderous  thing  crashed  down.  I  heard  the 
dull  impact,  and  the  next  instant  Guidotti  was  swept 
like  a  fly  from  the  cliff's  face.  No  cry  reached  us. 
He  fell  headlong  sixty  fee,t  before  he  struck  the  gran- 
ite, where  he  rolled  over  and  over  until  a  ledge  stopped 
him.  There  he  lay  very  still,  face  upwards,  an  arm 
a'ni''J  Jeg  sprawling  over  the  tdge., 

"Criosd-a  leinn!  Murder!  Pl^1*  murder!"  gasped 
Malcolm. 

"Shall  we  Tush  him,  Tony?"  I  s.sked,  sick  with  hor- 
ror. 

"Steady;  he  is  going  to  save  us  trouble.  He  is  com- 
ing down.  I  Jtf  'he  moves  an  arm  when  I  challenge  him — 
shoot!"' 

As  Tony  spoke,  the  murderer  descended  hurriedly 
and  reached  the  ledge  where  the  other  man  lay.  Hav- 
ing carefully  scanned  the  corrie,  he  bent  over  his 
enemy  for  a  long  minute.  Then  he  lifted  him — It — 
and  moved  with  his  burden  out  of  our  sight  behind 
the  giant  boulders.  An  interminable  five  minutes 
passed  before  he  reappeared,  and  lowered  himself 
down  the  bottom  rungs  of  the  Ladder.  Soon  he  would 
be  on  level  ground,  and  in  our  hands  if  he  came 
straight  ahead.  Down  he  clambered,  and  began  to  pick 
his  way  among  the  granite.  The  distance  between  us 
lessened  until  I  could  see  the  whites  of  his  eyes.  We 
crouched  lower,  well  out  of  sight.  I  could  hear  his 
footsteps  on  the  stones  not  fifty  yards  away. 

Up  sprang  Tony  with  revolver  levelled. 

"Goo^-morning,  Dr.  Hall,"  he  called;  "or  is  it  Mr. 
'M'Nair'?" 

I  own  that  the  villain  showed  consummate  nerve. 
He  stopped  dead.  Not  a  word  came  from  him,  but 
although  his  face  was  livid,  there  was  calculation,  and 
not  defeat,  in  his  eye.  For  a  tense  moment  or  two  he 


THE  SEARCHERS  237 

stood  perfectly  still.  Then  he  threw  up  his  head, 
cleared  his  throat  as  if  about  to  speak  and  coolly  put 
his  hands  in  his  pockets. 

"Hands  up!"  shouted  Tony  in  a  blaze  of  suspicion 
and  anger,  suddenly  pulling  me  down  beside  him — not 
a  second  too  soon,  for  a  revolver  cracked,  and  a  bullet 
hit  the  ledge  behind  us  with  a  wicked  phutt. 

"A  near  thing!  All  his  wits  about  him !"  said  Tony. 
"He  fired  from  his  pocket.  I  shouldn't  have  given 
him  a  second's  law." 

"The  Searcher"  had  wheeled  instantly  and  was  run- 
ning at  top  speed  on  the  level  ground  towards  The 
Knuckle. 

"Bolted!"  said  Tony.     "He  won't  go  very  far." 

We  fired  simultaneously,  but  he  had  a  forty  yards' 
start,  and  was  doubling  and  twisting  among  the  boul- 
ders. Although  he  threw  up  an  arm,  neither  of  our 
bullets  had  stopped  him. 

"Come  on!"  said  Tony,  now  round  the  boulder  and 
in  the  open.  "We'll  head  him  for  The  Knuckle.  Dun- 
can and  the  others  are  up  there." 

The  fugitive  glanced  behind,  and,  ignorant  of  the 
hidden  sentries  over  the  ridge,  thought  that  to  gain 
The  Knuckle  would  be  the  safest  plan.  Once  among 
its  boulders,  he  could  pick  us  off  if  we  tried  to  rush 
him.  This  must  have  been  his  scheme,  for  he  made  a 
tremendous  spurt  and  increased  his  advantage.  The 
pace  was  gruelling,  a  fierce  onslaught  on  the  lungs  up 
that  steep  and  stony  slope,  but  guilty  terror  and  a  vision 
of  the  rope  gave  him  the  speed  and  the  resource  of  a 
hunted  beast.  He  climbed  from  one  stone  to  another, 
looking  round  at  us  as  he  dived  in  and  out  of  his  cover, 
all  the  time  making  his  way  up  with  astonishing  swift- 
ness. 

"In   here,"    said   Tony,    slipping   behind   a    rock. 


238  THE  SEARCHERS 

"We'll  get  back  our  wind.  There's  no  hurry,  for  we 
have  all  the  earths  stopped." 

Peering  around  the  corner  of  our  screen,  I  saw  the 
flying  man  throw  himself  face  downwards  on  the 
ground,  and  lie  watching  us  from  behind  a  stone.  In 
quick  succession  we  fired  again,  not  so  much  in  the 
hope  of  hitting  him  as  to  drive  him  up  the  ridge  and 
warn  our  men  of  his  and  our  whereabouts.  A  minute 
or  two  passed,  hunters  and  hunted  motionless,  watch- 
ing, when  the  silence  was  broken  by  a  shout  behind 
us.  It  was  from  Matheson,  coming  towards  us  at  the 
double.  The  fugitive  must  have  heard  in  it  the  voice 
of  doom.  For  a  moment  he  hesitated  and  then  spurted 
up  the  slope,  when  the  chase  began  again,  on  our  part 
at  an  easy  trot,  for  our  quarry  was  making  straight  to 
within  range  of  Duncan  and  Finlay,  hidden  on  the  far- 
ther slope  of  the  ridge. 

In  his  bid  for  life,  intent  on  making  speed  up  the 
rough  ascent,  he  did  not  see  the  waiting  danger.  There 
was  a  deep  cleft,  a  vertical  joint  in  the  granite,  run- 
ning to  a  V-shaped  end  on  the  Searcher's  left.  It 
dropped  to  the  dry  bed  of  a  stream,  and  on  its  crest, 
bare  of  stones,  the  ridge's  spine  arched  and  fell  a  few 
yards  to  a  crevasse — the  crossing  of  which  meant  a 
ten-foot  leap,  easy  enough  on  the  flat,  but  with  a  diffi- 
cult "take-off"  for  a  winded  man.  "The  Searcher," 
after  a  swift  glance  behind  at  us,  realised  that  to  break 
to  the  left  where  the  crevasse  narrowed  would  lose 
time  and  perhaps  bring  him  within  our  range.  For  a 
second  or  two  he  faltered  and  then  ran  back  a  few 
yards  to  gather  himself  for  the  jump.  On  the  instant 
he  rose,  one  arm  in  the  ais,  a  rifle-shot  rang  out.  While 
one  might  have  counted  ten  we  waited.  Then  came  a 
long,  despairing  cry,  cut  off  with  a  dreadful  abrupt- 


THE  SEARCHERS  239 

ness.  Keene-Leslie  and  I  looked  at  each  other,  listen- 
ing, the  same  mute  question  in  our  eyes. 

Duncan  and  Finlay  had  rounded  the  point  of  the 
cleft,  and  were  now  hurrying  down  towards  us. 

"He  is  doon  there,"  said  Duncan,  pointing  to  the 
cleft.  "I  fired  low,  and  missed.  The  bullet  went 
atween  his  legs.  He  made  the  loup,  but  he  fell  short 
and  clutched  a  rock  at  the  top.  He  should  easily  ha' 
been  able  to  pull  himsel'  up,  but  I  think  ye  had  hit  him, 
for  he  hung  on  by  only  one  hand.  I  ran  doon,  and 
was  thirty  yards  from  him.  Then  he  gave  yon  cry, 
and  let  go.  .  .  .  Trocair  o  Dhia!"  Down  the  slope 
we  raced  and  made  our  way  into  the  cleft.  Fifty  yards 
from  its  entrance  we  came  on  him,  dragging  his  broken 
body  towards  us.  I  was  within  a  few  yards  of  him 
before  he  looked  up.  Not  a  word  did  he  say,  but  his 
eyes  met  mine  and  there  was  in  them  what  I  never  wish 
to  see  again. 

I  bent  over  the  doomed  wretch. 

"A  pity  you  did  not  finish  me,"  he  said,  with  a 
shrug.  "My  leg  is  smashed,  and  you  winged  me  in, 
this  arm." 

I  gave  him  some  brandy,  and  propped  him  against 
a  boulder.  For  a  long  time  he  said  nothing,  shadows 
creeping  round  his  mouth ;  but  his  eyes,  curiously  alive 
In  their  mask  of  dead  white,  narrowed  to  steel  points, 
were  watching  Keene-Leslie. 

"It  was  you,"  he  said  dully,  almost  as  if  speaking 
to  himself;  "it  was  you  who  ran  me  down,  Keene- 
Leslie.  ...  I  wonder  how  you  did  it?"  .  .  .  He 
looked  from  Tony  to  me,  and  getting  no  reply,  added, 
"Not  that  it  matters,  now!"  His  free  hand  made  a 
groping  movement  towards  the  lapels  of  his  coat,  but 
Tony  swiftly  caught  his  wrist.  "The  Searcher"  looked 
at  him  with  a  faint  smile  on  his  white  face.  Then  he 


24o  THE  SEARCHERS 

said  in  a  startlingly  clear  and  composed  voice,  "Ah!  I 
see  what  you  mean.  The  revolver!  You'll  find  it  in 
my  hip-pocket.  Your  precautions  are,  I  admit,  justi- 
fied, but  I  was  about  to  present  Forbes  and  you  with 
a  far  more  interesting  souvenir.  I  know  when  I'm 
beaten.  The  game  is  up.  This  is  the  end  of  the  paper- 
chase!" 

Tony  took  the  revolver  from  his  pocket  and  un- 
loaded it. 

"And  now" — "The  Searcher"  turned  his  head  to 
me — "you  want  the  paper,  Forbes.  I  wish  I  had  never 
seen  it.  Put  your  hand  into  this  pocket  and  you  will 
find  something.  You  are  welcome." 

I  did  as  he  asked,  and  pulled  out  an  old  pocket- 
book.  I  recognised  it  at  once. 

"Yes!"  he  said,  watching  my  face;  "the  same  pocket- 
book!  Rip  up  the  lining.  I  was  'M'Nair'  on  the 
night  of  the  fog  in  Edinburgh.  I  came  back  next 
morning  to  Jura  Street,  and  recovered  my  property. 
That  was  the  night  when  Guidotti — you'll  find  him  up 
there  in  the  rocks — knifed  Salvi  in  Durham  Place,  and 
nearly  got  me  at  the  same  time." 

"And  I  met  you  in  the  Caledonian  Hotel  next  day?" 

He  nodded. 

"I  am  tired.  .  .  .  Take  me  away  from  these  ac- 
cursed stones.  I'm  not  going  to  cheat  the  gallows 
.  .  .  just  yet.  Like  King  Charles,  I  apologise  for 
death's  delay.  It's  none  of  my  seeking,  God  knows !" 

Leaving  the  others  to  look  after  him  for  a  moment 
or  two,  I  turned  to  Tony  and  opened  the  pocket-book. 
There  was  nothing  in  the  pockets;  but  I  ripped  up 
the  lining,  and  soon  found  the  little  paper.  A  glance 
at  it — the  serrated  edge  and  "ossa  humiliata^"  at  the 
foot — told  me  that  here  at  last  was  what  we  sought, 
the  few  words  over  which  the  centuries  had  woven 


THE  SEARCHERS  241 

their  web  of  intrigue  and  crime.  Keene-Leslie  and  I 
withdrew  round  a  bend  in  the  cleft,  where  I  took  out 
the  copy  of  our  half,  and  held  the  two  together.  They 
fitted  like  the  parts  of  a  puzzle.  Before  us  was  the 
key  to  Father  Hamilton's  grave ! 
Here  is  the  complete  document: 

Anno  Redemptoris  MDLXIII  \ 

Ye  month  Aprile.  .  .  .  From  Gleann  Ciuin  His  house  \  IV. 
Houres  to  Ye  Learg  Ghruamach  North  Jawes  &  in  other  \  IF. 
Houres  from  Ye  Jawes  to  Ye  Saddle  6f  High**  Pt  \ 
of  Ye  Pass.  .  .  .  Now  First  throe  \  Ye  Jawes  £f  up  Ye  Drove 
track  till  yow  do  come  neare  \  Ye  Saddle  &  Highst  P*  It 
lyes  among  Create  Monta  \  ines  &  Roches  Past  Belief 
a  Toyle  to  enconter  \  .  .  .  there  leave  Ye  drove  track 
Strike  to  Ye  Heart  \  of  Ye  Wilde  Turn  on  youre  right 
Sron  na  Leirg  \  Ye  Shouther  being  on  youre  Left 
ontill  yow  do  come  \  to  Y0  Rise  &  spring  of  ane  narrowe  stream 
This  runeth  but  no  I  distance  then  does  it  joyne 
ane  neybour  Wa  \  ter.  .  .  .  Now  do  yo<w  there  discrethe 
Salute  oure  Three  trustie  friends  \  who  awaite  oure  comin 
Anent  these  I  did  fullie  in  \  struct  yoto  in  one  seperat  Wryting  \ 
from  Ye  tail  \  lest  do  yow  stepp  her  own  highth  & 
no  more  \  faire  &  strait  W.     Go  no  furthr  Here  is  bless*  ground 
f  Exultabunt  Domino  \  ossahumiliata  t 

The  instructions  in  it  were  clear.  We  had  to  leave 
the  drove  track  (or,  rather,  the  line  where  the  old 
drove  track  had  once  been)  near  the  top  of  the  Larig, 
and  then  "Strike  to  -the  heart  of  the  wild."  Keeping 
Sron  na  Leirg  on  our  left,  we  should  find  the  source 
of  a  short  mountain  stream,  which  we  were  to  follow 
until  it  joined  another — "ane  neybour  Water."  There 
the  "Three  trustie  friends"  were  waiting  for  us.  The 
word  "tail"  in  the  third  last  line  of  our  half  of  the 
paper  puzzled  us  for  a  little,  but  from  the  neighbouring 
half  it  was  plain  that  we  had  misread  the  indistinct 
writing.  The  letters  were  "tall,"  not  "tail,"  and  the 
whole  word  was  "tallest."  The  last  direction  enjoined 
us  to  step  straight  west,  the  same  distance  as  the  height 
of  the  tallest  of  the  "Three  trustie  friends."  Our  ex- 


242  THE  SEARCHERS 

ultation  can  be  imagined.  The  grave — if  it  existed — • 
could  not  be  far  away. 

By  this  time  all  our  men  had  joined  us,  and  a  sug- 
gestion by  Duncan  that  the  two  stalkers  should  carry 
"The  Searcher"  down  the  Pass  to  the  shelter-hut  below 
Cairn  Toul  was  adopted.  A  stretcher  was  improvised 
from  a  plaid  and  a  couple  of  rifles,  he  was  lifted  into 
it,  and  the  party  went  down  the  slope. 

The  rest  of  us  turned  to  the  Ladder  where  Guidotti, 
his  last  hazard  played  and  lost,  lay  among  the  boul- 
ders. It  was  easy  to  find  his  body,  for  the  track  from 
the  ledge  to  the  spot  where  his  enemy  had  hidden  it 
was  crimson.  It  lay  behind  a  boulder,  and  one  glance 
at  the  gruesome  wound  on  the  temple  told  us  that  he 
must  have  gone  to  his  black  account  in  an  instant.  We 
took  turns  in  carrying  the  dead  man  down  the  Pass  and 
soon  it  was  laid  outside  the  hut  into  which  the  stalkers 
but  a  short  time  before  had  borne  his  enemy. 

Inside,  a  couch  had  been  made  from  the  plaid  and 
heather.  "The  Searcher"  was  lying  on  it.  The  stalk- 
ers told  us  that  he  had  not  spoken  a  word  beyond 
"Thank  you,"  but  he  never  closed  an  eye,  and  lay 
watching  us,  his  face  peaked. 

"You  have  something  to  tell  us,  I  think,"  I  said, 
after  a  moment  or  two's  silence. 

He  pondered  a  little. 

"A  confession?  Well,  perhaps,  on  the  whole,  it  is 
due  to  you.  You  have  won  the  paper-chase,  and  no 
doubt  you  are  anxious  to  test  the  truth  of  the  instruc* 
tions  in  the  accursed  paper,"  he  said  slowly,  with  a 
strange,  .almost  repellent  composure.  "I  think  that 
they  are  genuine.  ...  I  wish  I  could  go  with  you. 
...  As  for  my  story" — he  hesitated,  and  then  went 
on  with  the  same  cold  deliberation — "if  you  give  me 
pencil  and  paper,  I  can  write  down  anything  I  have 


THE  SEARCHERS  243 

got  to  say  in  your  absence.  My  right  hand  and  arm 
are  whole  and  I  am  in  no  great  pain.  ...  I  have  a 
very  special  reason,  as  you  will  discover,  for  putting 
my  statement  in  writing." 

Keene-Leslie  tore  out  part  of  his  pocket-book,  and 
handed  it  to  him  with  a  pencil.  Old  Angus  and  Mathe- 
son  were  left  in  charge,  and  the  rest  of  us  stepped  out 
of  the  hut  into  the  bright  sunshine.  I  was  last,  and  at 
the  door  I  turned.  "The  Searcher"  lifted  his  head 
and  looked  at  me.  His  eye  and  voice  were  steady. 
"Good  luck — and  good-bye,"  he  said. 


CHAPTER  XXXIV 

SUNLIGHT  now  flooded  the  Pass.  In  the  valley  the 
heat  must  have  been  sweltering,  for  the  wind  had 
fallen,  and  even  at  that  height  the  rocks  were  warm 
to  the  touch.  With  the  men  carrying  the  spades  and 
picks,  we  stepped  out  briskly  up  the  Larig.  Keeping 
the  shoulder  of  Sron  na  Leirg  on  our  left,  as  the  key- 
paper  enjoined,  we  struck  into  the  wilds,  and  soon  came 
upon  trickles  of  water  threading  the  waste.  Two  of 
these  we  followed  until  their  junction  with  "ane  ney- 
bour  water."  The  "Three  trustie  friends"  was  plainly 
a  reference  to  some  outstanding  physical  feature,  but 
there  was  nothing  of  mark  in  the  surroundings — noth- 
ing but  sour-looking  bog-land,  with  the  everlasting 
granite  thrusting  its  strong  shoulder  out  at  intervals. 

Back  we  went  for  about  half-a-mile  to  the  source 
of  a  third  stream,  which  we  followed  for  a  hundred 
yards  or  so,  when  it  led  us  round  a  spur  into  a  little 
defile.  Keene-Leslie  and  I,  in  front,  stopped  dead  in 
the  same  instant.  The  defile  widened  and  in  its  centre 
a  stretch  of  welcome  green  moss  sloped  to  the  edge 
of  the  burn.  In  sharp  isolation,  straight  in  front  of 
us,  not  a  hundred  yards  distant,  were  three  tall  and 
dark  rock-pillars!  They  stood  out  in  abrupt  contrast 
to  the  £reen  at  their  feet  and  in  the  strong  sunlight 
their  silhouettes,  cut  out  against  the  background  of 
the  mountain-sides  resembled,  at  the  first  glance,  gi- 
gantic and  uncouth-looking  human  figures. 

"Look,  Neil!  The  'Three  trustie  friends'!"  ex- 
claimed Tony. 

244 


THE  SEARCHERS  245 

The  rest  of  the  party  overtook  us,  and  I  turned  to 
Finlay,  hope  struggling  with  doubt. 

"Has  this  place  a  name?" 

"No,  sir,"  said  he.  "But  in  the  Gaelic  they  will 
be  calling  the  big  stones  there" — pointing  to  the  three 
singular  rocks — "  lNa  tri  bantrichean,'  in  the  English, 
The  Three  Widows.'  " 

Tony  and  I  looked  at  each  other. 

"Salute  our  'Three  trustie  friends,'  "  I  quoted,  and, 
much  to  the  mystification  of  the  men,  we  doffed  our 
caps. 

Here  was  a  discovery!  We  hurried  forward,  and 
in  a  few  minutes  were  at  the  base  of  the  middle  rock. 
It  was  the  tallest  one,  but  its  sisters  were  only  a  few 
feet  short  of  it. 

The  directions  in  the  paper  were  clear.  From  the 
tallest  we  were  to  pace  its  own  height  straight  west. 
Duncan  Ross,  who  was  exactly  six  feet  in  height,  was 
placed  near  the  middle  rock,  and  his  shadow  was  meas- 
ured. It  was  eight  feet.  The  shadow  thrown  by  the 
tallest  of  the  three  rocks  was  fifty-six  feet  in  length. 
A  simple  calculation  determined  the  rock's  height, 
forty-two  feet,  which  we  measured  from  its  foot  due 
west  by  the  compass.  There  we  found  a  granite  heap 
about  four  feet  high,  near  the  edge  of  the  burn.  It 
ran  seven  or  eight  yards  along  the  top  of  the  bank, 
and  was  roughly  eight  feet  broad.  The  heap  did  not 
look  very  promising,  but  the  instructions  in  the  paper 
were  explicit,  and  without  delay  we  set  to  work  to 
clear  away  the  stones.  Some  of  them  were  no  bigger 
than  slates,  but  others  were  great  lumps  which  had 
been  embedded  for  years.  An  hour's  hard  work  re- 
vealed nothing,  except  a  bed  of  rock  three  feet  down 
seemingly  as  hard  as  ferro-concrete.  We  took  turns 
with  the  men,  sweating  hard,  but  a  long  day's  work 


246  THE  SEARCHERS 

would  have  made  but  little  impression  on  the  stubborn 
heap.  The  great  cicatrices  on  the  slope  of  the  hill 
showed  that  it  was  in  the  direct  line  of  avalanches  and 
landslides.  The  whole  face  of  the  place  must  have 
changed  with  the  years,  but  we  determined  to  excavate 
it,  and  after  a  spell  off,  set  doggedly  to  work  again. 

An  hour  or  two  afterwards  Tony  and  I  were  on  the 
bank  beside  the  burn,  examining  the  strata  of  the  rocks, 
debating  whether  an  assault  from  the  side  might  not 
give  better  results.  Suddenly  one  of  the  men  shouted 
a  warning.  We  had  just  time  to  jump  clear,  when  the 
stones  in  the  middle  of  the  bank  bulged  outwards,  a 
couple  of  yards  of  the  formation  collapsed  and  crashed 
down  to  the  bed  of  the  burn.  In  our  digging,  a  stone 
which  had  acted  as  a  linch-pin  must  have  been  moved, 
and  the  balance  thus  disturbed,  the  side  of  the  heap 
had  given  way. 

This  was  a  piece  of  great  good  luck  and  lessened 
our  labours,  for  the  big  stones  were  now  loosened  and 
more  easily  lifted.  An  hour's  work  cleared  them  out. 
Below  them  were  a  number  of  flat  pieces  of  granite. 
Tony  was  pitching  some  of  the  smaller  ones  into  the 
burn,  when  he  suddenly  ceased,  and  stood  staring  at 
something  in  his  hand.  It  looked  like  a  small,  dis- 
coloured and  misshapen  melon,  and  I  wondered  why 
he  wasted  time  in  turning  the  thing  round  and  round. 
Presently  he  went  down  the  slope  and  dipped  it  into 
the  burn,  after  which  he  scoured  it  carefully  with  sand 
and  water,  scraping  the  mould  away.  It  was  hollow, 
and  when  he  held  it  up,  little  arcs  of  water,  glittering 
in  the  sun,  ran  out  from  two  holes  in  it. 

"Catch!"  called  he,  tossing  it  lightly  to  me. 

I  caught  it,  and  almost  dropped  it  as  soon  as  I 
touched  it,  a  glance  at  it  filling  me  with  a  strange  mix- 
ture of  repulsion  and  elation.  It  was  a  human  skull. 


THE  SEARCHERS  247 

"Ossa  humlllata!  Father  Hamilton's  grave !"  Tony 
exclaimed,  and  pointed  to  the  cavity,  where  more  flat, 
thin  slabs  of  granite  lay  in  orderly  sequence.  Very 
carefully  we  raised  them,  and  saw,  protruding  from  a 
shallow  layer  of  earth,  the  ribs  of  a  skeleton.  A  few 
minutes  were  enough  to  enable  us  to  uncover  what  had 
once  been  a  man — the  man  who  had  died  centuries  ago 
in  the  storm  in  the  Larig. 

He  must  have  been  small — "of  frail  body,"  accord- 
ing to  Father  Sempill — for  the  femur  was  slight  and 
the  skeleton,  without  the  skull,  was  scarcely  five  feet 
long.  It  lay  at  full  length,  a  few  wisps  of  rags  cling- 
ing to  the  ribs;  the  finger-bones  of  one  hand  overlap- 
ping the  other,  between  them  a  tarnished  crucifix.  It 
was  not  difficult  to  visualise  the  last  scene:  the  daunt- 
less priests,  upheld  by  the  simple  courage  born  of  faith 
and  duty,  watching  their  comrade  dying;  the  last  rites 
in  the  blinding  storm;  the  laborious  covering  of  the 
body  with  stones  to  guard  against  discovery  by  man 
or  prowling  beasts  of  the  mountain;  the  two  survivors 
staggering  on  into  the  blast.  "Here  is  blessed  ground. 
Exultabunt  Domino  Ossa  Humiliata."  The  words  re- 
curred in  their  extremest  force. 

Under  our  directions  the  men  lifted  the  skeleton  out 
of  the  grave  and  laid  it  on  the  ledge.  The  stones  on 
which  it  had  lain  were  for  the  most  part  inconsiderable, 
but  there  was  one  striking  exception.  At  the  head  of 
the  narrow  bed  lay  a  large  flat  slab,  the  priest's  pillow 
in  his  long  sleep,  and  round  it  some  lesser  stones,  the 
regularity  of  their  places  in  the  setting  of  earth  sug- 
gesting that  they  had  not  come  there  by  accident.  I 
bent  down  and  tried  to  move  the  slab,  but  the  earth 
held  it  firmly.  It  required  a  couple  of  wrenches  with 
the  pick  to  turn  it  over,  and  when  it  came  away  I  felt 
a  sudden  throbbing  in  my  temples,  for  below  it,  bare 


248  THE  SEARCHERS 

of  earth,  was  a  flat  surface,  dark,  except  for  a  yellow 
scratch  where  the  pick  had  glanced  off  it. 

Tony's  voice  broke  the  silence.  "You  have  come  to 
your  own,  Neil." 

My  pulses  quickened  as  I  scraped  the  earth  away 
from  the  sides  and  lifted  the  thing  out.  It  was  an 
oblong  box,  black  with  age;  but  a  closer  examination 
showed  that  it  was  made  of  brass,  and  on  the  lid  was 
the  Ciuin  coat  of  arms.  Any  lingering  doubt  I  had 
vanished. 

It  was  locked,  but  the  old  rust-eaten  hinges  offered 
little  resistance.  The  lid  was  easily  wrenched  open. 
On  the  top  lay  a  cylindrical  packet,  six  or  eight  inches 
long.  I  lifted  it  out,  and  drew  a  long  breath,  for 
below  it  was  the  top  of  a  Latin  cross,  crusted  with 
jewels.  The  cross  had  been  snapped  in  pieces  to  fit 
the  casket,  and  was  studded  with  magnificent  square 
emeralds.  Underneath  was  a  little  silver  ship,  muck 
tarnished,  but  of  the  most  delicate  workmanship,  and 
bordered  with  gems,  which  afterwards  proved  to  be 
superb  black  pearls.  We  found  heavy  gold  candle- 
sticks, a  rosary,  and  another  large  crucifix,  all  inlaid 
with  precious  stones;  two  fine  ropes  of  pearls;  and  the 
Scottish  Lion,  exquisitely  designed  in  sapphires  on  a 
tiny  ivory  shield.  A  smaller  casket  (like  the  larger 
one,  with  the  Ciuin  coat  of  arms  on  its  lid)  was  full 
of  jewels.  To  be  exact,  there  were  fifty-nine,  and  a 
glance  was  enough  to  show  that  in  them  alone  there 
was  a  fortune. 

There  still  remained  unopened  the  packet  that  had 
lain  uppermost  in  the  casket.  Its  outer  covering  was 
of  hide  or  skin  of  some  sort,  specially  prepared  with 
a  waxen  substance,  which  the  years  had  hardened  into 
a  scaly  integument.  A  sharp  knife  cut  it  open  easily, 
and  inside  we  found  an  old  parchment  in  wonderful 


THE  SEARCHERS  249 

preservation.  It  was  a  full  inventory  of  the  jewels 
and  enclosed  in  it  was  a  little  object,  sealed  at  both 
ends,  like  a  large  walnut  in  shape,  colour,  and  size. 
The  seals  were  carefully  broken,  when  the  shell  fell 
apart  and  disclosed  a  superb  gem. 

I  held  it  up  to  the  sun. 

"The  Leopard's  Eye!"  cried  Tony. 

And  so  it  proved  to  be. 

It  was  the  last  item — "It  and  None  Other  is  ye 
Create  Leppard's  Eye" — in  the  old  inventory. 

It  was  almost  as  large  as  a  pigeon's  egg,  a  magnifi- 
cent chrysoberyl,  the  true  Oriental  Cat's  Eye.  After 
its  dungeon  life  for  some  three  hundred  and  fifty  years, 
at  its  first  startled  meeting  with  the  sun,  the  eye 
watched  us  like  something  alive,  shining  now  with  the 
wide  unblinking  stare  of  a  beast  of  the  jungle,  now 
with  a  soft  and  mellow  radiance,  but  always  with  a 
remarkable  interplay  of  colour  and  sheen  in  a  tri- 
chroism  spun  of  delicate  straw  tints,  light  hazel,  and 
rich  amber,  and  with  the  wizard  line  peculiar  to  the 
Oriental  Cat's  Eye  gleaming  in  mysterious  life.  This 
line,  formed  by  minute  striations  in  the  gem,  was  un- 
usually well  defined,  running  vividly  from  end  to  end 
across  the  middle  of  the  stone,  like  a  restless  impatient 
spirit,  as  the  jewel's  glittering  curve  caught  the  sun. 
It  was  beautiful,  but  the  fancy  seized  me  that  it  knew 
of  dark  secrets,  and  that  at  times  a  shadow  touched  it, 
as  a  baleful  memory  clouds  a  lovely  face. 

I  laid  the  strange,  fascinating  stone  on  the  ledge 
along  with  the  glittering  contents  of  the  casket,  and 
Tony  and  I  glanced  at  each  other.  Heaven  knows, 
we  had  talked  enough  about  our  quest;  but  now,  at  the 
moment  of  its  sudden  finish,  the  restraint  which  often 
seizes  intimate  friends  at  great  moments  fell  on  us. 
Although  I  knew  that  wealth  and  all  it  stood  for 


250  THE  SEARCHERS 

were  mine,  the  knowledge  froze  the  springs  of 
speech.  Not  a  word  did  we  exchange  for  some  min- 
utes, but  fingered  the  treasures  one  by  one,  awkwardly, 
like  a  couple  of  children,  the  men  standing,  curious- 
eyed,  a  little  distance  away. 


CHAPTER  XXXV 

OUR  energies  had  been  focussed  in  a  singular  degree 
upon  the  search,  and  in  consequence  thoughts  of  the 
murder  and  the  man-hunt  had  in  a  measure  been 
checked ;  but  now,  with  the  grave  beside  me  and  in  the 
knowledge  that  our  quest  was  at  an  end,  my  mind 
turned  sharply  to  the  hut  down  the  Pass,  where,  his 
body  broken,  his  evil  schemes  in  the  dust,  "The 
Searcher"  lay  watching  the  shadow  of  the  gallows. 

His  sudden  entrance  into  the  Chanter  Corrie  had 
stunned  me.  In  my  attempts  to  unravel  the  affair,  a 
thought  of  him  had  never  crossed  my  mind;  and  now, 
as  I  recalled  his  professional  zeal,  his  friendliness  and 
sympathy,  and  his  offers  of  help,  the  knowledge  that 
I  had  seen  him  do  cowardly  murder  and  that  beyond 
doubt  he  was  the  "Prowler"  at  The  Bield,  still  filled 
me  with  complete  mystification  and  horror. 

Tony  was  looking  at  me,  a  smile  in  his  eye. 

"Well,  Didymus?"  quoth  he. 

"Who  is  The  Searcher,'  Tony?" 

To  my  surprise  he  shook  his  head.  "I  don't  know, 
Neil,"  he  replied.  "Indeed,  I  can  tell  you  very  little 
about  him  further  than  that  he  is  not  a  known  crim- 
inal, and  I  don't  think  he  is  a  professional  one.  How- 
ever, he  realises  that  the  game  is  up,  and  I  fancy  that 
he  may  yet  confess  the  truth.  There  is  a  lot  that  I 
can't  fathom.  Let  us  go  back  to  the  hut.  One  of  the 
men  can  take  a  message  to  the  police,  and  on  the  way 
down  I'll  tell  you  the  story  of  how  I  got  on  the  trail." 

251 


252  THE  SEARCHERS 

Duncan  was  despatched  to  the  Glen  with  a  message 
for  Sparke  and  the  police,  and  to  arrange  for  two  con- 
veyances to  be  ready  at  the  end  of  the  forest  road. 
Tony  and  I  with  our  own  hands  placed  the  skeleton 
in  the  hollow,  and,  having  covered  it  over  with,  stones 
until  such  time  as  we  could  return  to  give  it  decent 
burial,  we  left  the  defile,  carrying  the  long-lost  casket 
and  its  contents,  and  turned  towards  the  Pass. 

Hardly  had  we  struck  the  track  of  the  Larig  when 
I  heard  a  shout  from  behind  us,  and  with  a  field-glass 
picked  out  Duncan  and  three  others.  These  proved  to 
be  Sparke  and  a  couple  of  police-officers  whom  Dun- 
can had  met  within  half-an-hour  of  leaving  us.  Soon 
they  joined  us,  and  in  a  few  minutes  Sparke  had  been 
told  the  story  and  a  formal  statement  given  to  the 
police.  Then  all  turned  towards  the  hut  below  Cairn 
Toul. 

Sparke  had  something  to  say  which  tightened  the 
noose  about  "The  Searcher's"  neck.  On  the  previous 
evening,  while  in  the  Afries  Wood,  near  the  south 
road,  having  a  quiet  pipe  after  his  day's  work,  and 
keeping  his  eyes  open,  he  had  spotted  Dr.  Hall,  alone, 
walking  briskly  towards  the  forest.  "He  did  not  see 
me,"  said  Sparke;  "but  even  if  he  had,  in  my  working 
rig-out  he  would  have  put  me  down  as  one  of  his 
humble  patients.  I  had  arranged  that  the  inspector — 
who,  in  case  of  accidents,  had  a  warrant  for  his  ar- 
rest— would  take  possession  of  his  belongings  during 
his  absence.  I  lay  low,  and  watched  him  long  enough 
to  be  reasonably  certain  that  he  was  marching  into 
the  Chanter  Corrie  trap.  The  rest,  I  thought,  could 
be  safely  left  to  you !  When  you  didn't  turn  up,  I  got 
a  couple  of  conveyances,  and,  with  the  inspector  and 
his  man,  drove  up  to  the  end  of  the  forest  road,  and — 
here  I  am!  I  hurried,  you  bet,  but,  my  hat!" — he 


THE  SEARCHERS  253 

mopped  a  steaming  brow — "the  Larig  isn't  Ludgate 
Hill!  I  wish  I  had  arrived  in  time  to  see  the  finish." 

"Never  mind,  my  friend,"  said  Tony.  "Between 
us  we  contrived  a  pretty  useful  round-up — better  than 
we  bargained  for,  since  we  have  accounted  for  two 
Searchers  instead  of  one.  I  wish  we  had  roped  in  old 
Benedetto  as  well.  I  wonder  where  he  is !  However, 
this  is  the  coup  de  grace  to  the  gang,  I  fancy!" 

"All  thanks  to  you,  Mr.  Keene-Leslie,"  was  Sparke's 
generous  verdict.  If  it  was  Tony  who  had  first  hit 
the  trail  and  planned  "The  Searcher's"  capture,  Sparke 
had  been  an  alert  and  capable  ally. 

On  the  way  down  the  Pass  towards  Cairn  Toul,  Tony 
told  me  his  too  long  delayed  story. 

"On  the  day  after  the  colonel's  funeral,"  he  began, 
"I  was  sitting  by  an  open  window  in  the  dining-room, 
reluctantly  making  up  my  mind  that  I  was  beaten.  The 
doctor — I  doubt  if  we  shall  ever  know  his  real  name — 
was  bending  over  his  car  at  the  door.  He  had  found 
something  wrong  with  the  starting-gear,  and  after  tug- 
ging away  without  result,  straightened  himself  and 
rapped  out  an  ill-tempered  oath.  A  detail  this,  but 
two  points  in  it  instantly  strung  me  to  attention. 
Firstly,  the  oath,  'Sangue  dl  Diof  was  in  Italian;  sec- 
ondly, no  sooner  were  the  words  out  than  he  checked 
himself  and  looked  round,  on  his  face  a  shadow  of  ap- 
prehension, come  and  gone  in  a  second,  swift  as  the 
sudden  flight  of  a  swallow  across  one's  line  of  vision. 
I  drew  back  at  once,  and  he  did  not  see  me.  Once 
more  he  looked  cautiously  round,  and,  whistling  softly 
to  himself,  again  bent  over  the  car.  After  a  minute  or 
two  he  started  it  and  went  off. 

"The  use  of  Italian  might  have  been  a  mere  acci- 
dent, but  often  the  look  on  a  man's  face  when  he  thinks 
he  is  alone  is  illuminating.  The  real  man  shows. 


254  THE  SEARCHERS 

Here,  his  instant  check  and  the  swift  wariness  in  his 
eye,  like  a  fencer  recovering  his  guard,  struck  me  as 
curious,  and  at  least  worth  attention.  Was  it  possible 
that  there  was  a  link  between  this  quiet  and  competent 
professional  man  and  the  Duff  Avenue  gang?  I  passed 
the  rest  of  the  day  shut  up  in  the  library,  studying  the 
situation  and  the  history  of  the  affair.  I  confess  that 
I  thought  the  idea  too  fantastic,  but  I  did  not  throw 
it  aside  as  negligible — nothing  in  my  line  is — and  I 
thought  that  it  would  do  no  harm  to  see  a  little  more 
of  Dr.  Hall  and  satisfy  myself  that  I  was  wrong. 
Suddenly  I  began  to  suffer  from  insomnia." 

"And  you  consulted  him?" 

"Yes.  Although  I  had  never  lost  a  night's  sleep 
in  my  life,  I  described  a  few  imaginary  symptoms  in 
detail,  and  found  him  a  very  sympathetic  listener — 
the  same  well-mannered,  thoughtful-looking  man  as 
ever. 

"Now,  in  a  matter  of  this  kind  my  maxims  are  cast- 
iron.  Suspect  nobody.  Absolve  nobody.  However 
far-fetched  a  clue  may  seem,  exhaust  it.  At  my  first 
meeting  with  him  I  chatted  carelessly  and  watched 
carefully.  After  the  professional  part  of  the  inter- 
view, a  casual  reference  to  the  mysterious  affair  at 
The  Bield  gave  me  a  chance  of  telling  him  that  it  was 
clear  we  were  beaten,  and  that  to  worry  longer  over 
the  business  would  only  be  a  waste  of  time  and  nervous 
energy.  Apparently  rattling  on  quite  carelessly,  all 
the  time  I  kept  well  in  front  of  him  the  notion  that 
we  were  sick  of  the  whole  affair,  and  weren't  going  to 
bother  any  more  about  it.  He  agreed  with  my  view, 
and  when  we  parted  I  had  something  to  think  about. 
He  had  lied  to  me  at  least  once. 

"I  had  purposely  turned  the  conversation  to  foreign 
travel.  From  travel  to  foreign  languages  is  a  short 


THE  SEARCHERS  255 

step,  and  I  contrived  to  get  out  of  him  the  statement 
that  he  did  not  know  a  word  of  Italian!  Lie  number 
one !  A  man  in  a  temper  who  blurts  out  an  Italian 
oath  with  an  excellent  accent,  has  more  than  a  smatter- 
ing of  the  language.  My  interest  in  him  grew  won- 
derfully. I  telegraphed  for  a  copy  of  the  Medical 
Register,  and  found  only  one  man  of  his  name  in  its 
list,  a  Kenneth  Richard  Hall.  His  address  was  given 
as  Logan  St.  Mary,  Galloway,  and  his  degree  was  an 
Edinburgh  one  of  eleven  years  ago.  I  thought  this 
might  be  our  man.  He  cannot  be  more  than  thirty-five 
or  thirty-four." 

"I  understood  that  he  had  been  abroad  lately,"  I 
cut  in.  "I  had  a  vague  idea  that  he  had  been  a  ship's 
doctor.  He  came  here  not  many  months  ago  to  take 
up  the  late  Dr.  Marshall's  practice." 

"Yes.  His  recent  arrival  might  have  been  easily 
explained,  but  I  wanted  to  make  sure  of  this.  It  was 
necessary  to  trace  his  movements  before  he  came  to 
.  the  Glen,  and  at  our  next  meeting  I  cast  a  few  flies 
over  him.  I  had  to  throw  them  warily.  An  unguarded 
word  or  look  and  he  would  have  winded  danger  like  a 
stag.  But  my  chance  came.  I  could  not  put  a  direct 
question  to  him,  but  after  one  or  two  gambits,  I  began 
to  talk  about  big  game.  I  never  mentioned  Logan  St. 
Mary — the  place  in  Galloway  where  he  was  supposed 
to  have  practised — but  from  big  game  I  engineered  the 
conversation  to  big-game  hunters,  and  mentioned  that 
one  of  my  best  trips  had  been  after  caribou  in  New- 
foundland with  Sir  Jim  Dunbar.  I  was  considerably 
interested  to  discover  that  the  suave  doctor,  whose 
address  in  the  Medical  Register  bore  that  he  had  once 
practised  in  Logan  St.  Mary,  had  never  heard  of 
Dunbar.  Lie  number  two !  Jim  is  a  well-known 
sportsman,  and  laird  of  half  the  parish  of  Logan  St. 


256  THE  SEARCHERS 

Mary!  No  one  could  have  lived  in  that  somnolent 
district  without  having  met  or  heard  of  him.  But  it 
was  plain  that  the  doctor  was  ignorant  of  his  name. 
From  that  moment  I  knew  there  was  something  fishy, 
and  perhaps  worse. 

"I  wrote  to  Dunbar  asking  him  if  he  knew  Dr.  Ken- 
neth Hall,  who  used  to  be  and,  for  all  I  knew,  still  was 
at  Logan  St.  Mary.  The  reply  was  that  a  doctor  of  that 
name  had  been  in  practice  there  some  years  ago.  Dun- 
bar  had  often  met  him.  He  was  a  clean-shaven  chap, 
afflicted  with  an  incurable  thirst,  through  which  he 
had  ruined  his  chances.  He  had  gone  abroad,  and 
Dunbar  said  that  he  would  be  surprised  to  hear  that 
he  was  alive.  This  made  it  clear  that  the  doctor  was 
either  using  a  false  name,  or  that  he  had  returned  from 
abroad,  and  not  wanting  his  whereabouts  to  be  known, 
had  pretended  ignorance  of  Logan  St.  Mary!  So  far, 
so  good. 

"But  during  all  this  time  something  was  worrying 
me.  There  was  something  which  I  felt  I  ought  to  re- 
member— something  mislaid,  asleep  in  my  brain.  It 
was  irritatingly  vague,  yet  it  refused  to  be  dismissed. 
I  was  haunted  by  the  idea  that  there  was  a  possible 
link  in  the  chain  which  I  had  neglected.  For  a  time 
it  baffled  me;  but  one  morning,  lying  awake,  I  sat  bolt 
upright,  for  I  remembered  in  a  flash  that  you  had  met 
the  doctor  on  the  day  after  the  foggy  night  in  Edin- 
burgh! I  rose  early  and  wired  the  C.I.D.  people. 
Sparke  arrived  next  day,  and  had  a  long  interview 
with  me." 

"A  most  interesting  one,"  Sparke  contributed. 
"After  I  got  the  facts,  hoping  that  I  might  spot  a 
previous  acquaintance,  I  consulted  the  doctor  in  the 
working-kit  of  a  lumberman,  and  pitched  a  tale  about 
indigestion.  But  I  was  disappointed.  I  had  never 


THE  SEARCHERS  257 

seen  him  before,  and  I  was  certain  that  he  was  not  on 
our  books." 

"The  peculiar  thing  about  Sparke's  subsequent 
calls,"  continued  Tony,  "was  that  the  doctor  was  in- 
variably out,  and  that  Sparke  had  to  wait  for  him. 
As  you  probably  guess,  I  arranged  this,  for,  when  the 
doctor  was  at  The  Bield  in  the  evenings  seeing  us, 
friend  Sparke  had  always  a  note  of  the  hour,  and  made 
a  point  of  calling  at  the  doctor's  house  during  his 
absence !" 

"And  when  there,"  said  Sparke,  "I  took  the  liberty 
of  giving  a  run  through  my  medical  adviser's  rooms. 
I  found,  among  other  things,  some  hair-dye,  a  false 
beard  and  a  carefully  concealed  pair  of  heavy  boots." 

"Not  the  ones  with  the  triangular  mark?" 

"The  same,  Mr.  Forbes.  Of  course,  I  left  them 
where  they  were." 

"From  that  moment  'The  Searcher'  was  doomed!" 
Tony  went  on  triumphantly.  "We  didn't  want  to  scare 
our  bird,  for  the  essence  of  the  business  was  to  collar 
the  other  half  of  the  paper  as  well  as  the  cool  scoun- 
drel. Sparke  watched  him  night  and  day,  and  in  case 
of  emergency — an  attempt  to  bolt,  for  instance — had 
a  warrant  for  his  arrest  ready.  But  he  suspected  noth- 
ing, and  I  began  the  fashioning  of  a  trap  to  catch  him 
with  the  paper  in  his  possession.  Have  you  heard  of 
ceralac?" 

"Never." 

"The  making  of  it  is  a  secret.  Indeed,  there  are 
few  people  know  of  its  existence,  but  I  have  some  here." 

He  took  from  his  pocket  a  little  glass  phial  filled 
with  a  light-grey  fluid. 

"Detection  by  finger-prints  is  nearly  infallible  if 
your  man  is  a  known  criminal,  but  the  difficulty  some- 
times is  to  get  an  unregistered  man's  finger-prints. 


258  THE  SEARCHERS 

Now,  ceralac  can  be  artistically  smeared  on  any  sur- 
face— a  piece  of  paper,  a  table,  or  a  door-handle.  Ex- 
posed to  the  air  for  ten  minutes,  it  becomes  invisible, 
and  can  hardly  be  detected  by  the  touch  of  one's  fin- 
gers. The  prints  on  your  shirt  at  Edinburgh  were 
those  of  a  right  thumb  and  a  right  forefinger. — Sparke, 
while  I  light  up,  oblige  me  by  continuing." 

"When  I  called  to  consult  the  doctor,"  said  Sparke, 
"Mr.  Keene-Leslie  always  took  good  care  to  keep  him 
at  The  Bield  long  enough  to  give  me  time  to  lay  the 
'bird-lime.'  I  got  two  fairly  clear  prints,  both  from 
newspapers,  but  Mr.  Keene-Leslie  got  a  beauty  at  The 
Bield — as  good  a  one  as  I  have  seen,  and  I've  seen  a 
few  thousands." 

"Yes,  I  was  lucky,"  said  Tony,  taking  out  his  cigar- 
case.  "As  you  may  remember,  the  doctor  liked  a  good 
cigar.  My  cigar-case,  you  observe,  has  a  pull-off  top. 
I  prepared  it  with  ceralac,  and  when  I  handed  it  to 
him,  I  noted  with  great  delight  that  he  drew  the  top 
off  exactly  in  the  way  that  I  had  hoped.  He  used  his 
right  thumb  and  right  forefinger!  Next  day  I  sent 
the  three  sets  of  prints  to  London." 

"I  remember!  On  the  night  when  you  came  home 
late  from  fishing  on  Loch  Ruie  there  was  a  telegram 
waiting,"  said  I. 

"From  the  Yard.  It  told  me  that  the  print  was 
identical  with  the  Edinburgh  one.  You  know  the  rest. 
The  bait  of  the  bogus  half  of  the  paper  was  put  in  the 
escritoire." 

"How  did  he  know  that  it  was  there?" 

"I  played  the  gabbling,  indiscreet  ass,  reiterating 
that  the  old  story  of  the  lost  jewels  was  a  myth,  that 
the  paper  was  a  cabalistic  string  of  letters;  that  neither 
you  nor  I  cared  two  straws  about  it;  and  I  wound  up 
by  asking  him  (in  the  strictest  confidence,  of  course!) 


THE  SEARCHERS  259 

if  he  would  care  to  see  it.  He  controlled  his  face 
admirably  when  I  took  the  cooked  paper  out,  of  the 
escritoire,  and,  having  looked  at  it,  handed  it  back 
with  a  shrug  and  the  remark  that  he  agreed  that  it 
was  a  mare's  nest.  My  back  was  towards  him  when 
I  replaced  it  in  the  escritoire,  but  I  knew  that  he  was 
watching  me  for  all  he  was  worth.  I  laid  the  key 
down,  and  when  I  turned  there  were  two  bright  spots 
of  colour  in  his  pale  face.  Before  he  took  his  leave  I 
made  another  appointment  with  him  at  The  Bield,  and 
left  instructions  with  the  maids  to  ask  him  to  wait  if 
I  happened  to  be  out.  That  was  the  day  when  you 
went  to  Castleton.  Of  course,  I  too  made  a  point  of 
being  out  when  he  called.  The  coast  was  thus  left 
clear  for  him.  He  was  gone  when  I  returned;  but, 
as  I  proved  to  you  from  the  tell-tale  specks  of  paper, 
the  escritoire  had  been  opened,  and  although  the  pa- 
per was  still  there,  it  had  been  taken  out  and  replaced." 

"And  he  had  made  a  copy  of  it?" 

"Nothing  more  certain.  From  that  moment  the 
Chanter  Corrie  filled  his  mind.  I  must  say  that  his 
make-up  was  excellent.  He  was  always  closely  shaved. 
His  hair  and  eyebrows  were  carefully  dyed  black,  with 
a  streak  of  grey,  and  not  a  trace  of  reddish  hair  could 
be  detected.  His  real  colouring  was,  I  think,  too  in- 
determinate to  show  on  his  hands,  and  I  dared  not  stare, 
closely  at  them.  But  I  knew  that  he  was  'M'Nair,' 
and  Sparke  shadowed  his  every  movement.  You 
thought  you  heard  suspicious  footsteps  in  the  shrub- 
bery when  you  parted  from  the  doctor  at  the  lodge 
gate  on  the  night  before  we  left  The  Bield.  You  were 
right,  but  the  footsteps  were  those  of  the  vigilant 
Sparke,  who,  of  course,  knew  every  detail  of  my  plan. 
Well,  it  has  been  a  good  week,"  Tony  wound  up,  "and 
I  don't  think  I  shall  ever  put  in  another  like  it." 


26o  THE  SEARCHERS 

By  this  time  we  were  nearing  the  wild  country  at 
the  base  of  Cairn  Toul.  The  air  was  very  hot  and 
still.  We  had  halted  to  drink  from  one  of  the  many 
ice-cold  springs  among  these  heights,  when  Duncan's 
keen  ears  heard  distant  cries.  They  were  from  the 
south,  and  wondering  what  their  portent  was,  we  clam- 
bered up  a  hillock  of  tumbled  granite  and  looked  down 
the  Pass.  The  cries  came  from  one  of  the  watchers 
at  the  hut.  He  was  signalling  excitedly  to  us,  and 
when  he  saw  us  coming  in  his  direction,  he  hurried 
back  towards  the  hut.  Something  had  happened.  An 
uneasy  silence  fell  upon  us.  We  covered  the  last  half- 
mile  quickly  and  about  fifty  yards  from  the  hut  Angus 
and  Matheson  ran  forward  to  meet  us,  their  faces  as 
white  as  paper. 

"I  left  him  for  a  minute  or  two.  .  .  .  When  I  went 

back "  Old  Angus  broke  off,  and  pointed  with  a 

shaking  finger  to  the  shelter-hut. 

We  hastened  towards  it.  The  door  was  half-open, 
and  a  faint  peculiar  odour  met  us  on  the  threshold.  I 
flung  the  door  wide  open.  The  sun  cast  a  broad  bar 
of  light  across  the  floor,  and  in  its  bright  centre  lay 
"The  Searcher,"  face  downward.  Tony  bent  over  him 
and  turned  him  round.  The  staring  eyes,  the  purplish 
skin  and  clenched  hands  told  their  story. 

"Gone,  quickly  and  quietly.  Hydrocyanic  acid!  I 
didn't  think  of  that,  I  confess,"  said  Tony. 

On  the  floor  a  little  phial  lay  on  its  side,  empty,  and 
beside  it  was  the  section  of  the  notebook,  its  leaves 
covered  with  writing. 

Tony  bent  closer  over  the  body.  "Look!"  said  he, 
as  he  turned  back  the  dark  hair  behind  the  dead  man's 
ear.  Near  the  scalp  a  curious  rusty  shade  showed. 

"  'The  red-haired  traitor!'  "  I  whispered. 

Tony  nodded. 


CHAPTER  XXXVI 

I  TOOK  the  notebook-leaves,  and  we  stepped  into  the 
clean  air  outside  the  hut,  where  the  men  were  standing 
in  awe-struck  silence. 

The  dead  man's  statement  was  addressed  to  me. 
After  a  glance  at  it,  I  took  Keene-Leslie  and  Sparke 
aside,  and  in  the  shadow  of  a  boulder  read  it  to  them. 
Around  us  a  profound  stillness,  and  the  old,  wise, 
scarred  mountains — where  Nemesis  had  been  keeping 
her  immemorial  vigil — looking  down  upon  man's  little- 
ness and  the  two  enemies  in  the  equal  sleep  of  death, 
made  fit  setting  for  the  telling  of  tragedy. 

Here  is  the  black,  strange  story: 

"Do  not  try  to  find  out  who  I  am — or  rather,  who 
I  was. 

"I  was  once  keen  on  research,  and  although  the 
worldly  rewards  for  pioneer-work  in  Britain  are  con- 
temptible, I,  being  young  and  foolish,  proposed  to 
dedicate  my  life  to  it.  But  when  I  was  eight-and-twenty 
my  career  was  murdered:  my  name  was  struck  off  the 
Register  by  the  General  Medical  Council,  a  chartered 
anachronism  with  powers  greater  than  King,  Lords, 
Commons,  trade  unions,  or  any  institution  in  this  coun- 
try. The  details  are  unnecessary.  Only  let  me  say 
that  I  strove  with  heart  and  brain  for  my  goddess 
Science,  and  that  the  charge  against  me  was  brought 
by  reactionaries,  terrified  at  the  thought  of  a  revolt 
against  their  moss-grown  conventions.  A  few  years 
hence  and  the  savagery  of  my  punishment  will  be  re- 

261 


262  THE  SEARCHERS 

garded  as  a  mediaeval  horror,  as  impossible  in  a  civil- 
ised community  as  burning  at  the  stake. 

"For  nearly  a  year  my  reason  left  me.  When  I 
came  back  to  the  world  I  was  broken  in  health,  penni- 
less, and  filled  with  a  sense  of  injustice  that  bit  like 
an  acid.  A  few  good  men,  who  knew  the  inner  history 
and  the  true  perspective  of  my  degradation,  interested 
themselves  in  my  behalf.  I  threw  myself  into  my  work 
again,  and  for  a  time  found  in  it  a  blessed  relief,  for 
I  was  fool  enough  to  dream  that  if  I  helped  humanity 
by  original  work  I  might  regain  happiness.  But  my 
story  pursued  me.  I  soon  discovered  that  I  was  a 
pariah.  Gradually,  the  mixture  of  despair,  ennui,  the 
sense  of  defeat — what  men  call  a  broken  heart — 
crushed  me,  and,  weary  of  it  all,  I  disappeared.  Fol- 
lowed, years  of  wandering  abroad;  poverty;  unspeak- 
able loneliness;  the  torture  of  uncongenial  work. 

"I  contrived  to  make  a  living.  There  are  avenues — 
some  of  them  sombre  enough — for  a  man  under  a 
cloud,  if  he  has  medical  skill.  Two  years  ago  I  found 
myself  assistant — no  questions  asked — to  the  doctor 
in  a  mushroom  township  of  tents  and  hutments,  peopled 
by  a  couple  of  thousand  Italian  navvies  who  were  lay- 
ing a  railway  track  in  South  America,  north-west  of 
San  Paulo.  The  doctor's  name  was  Kenneth  Hall,  and 
he  had  once  been  in  country  practice  in  Logan  St. 
Mary,  Scotland.  On  a  generous  estimate  he  was  sober 
two  days  a  week,  but  he  paid  me  decently,  and  left 
me  alone;  and  there  was  not  much  to  do  except  dose 
his  cut-throat  patients  with  quinine  and  stitch  them  up 
after  their  brawls.  While  there  I  fell  in  with  a  lov- 
able rolling-stone,  Hugh  Forbes,  your  uncle.  Why  he 
took  to  me  God  knows,  for  I  was  soured  to  the  verge 
of  misanthropy,  while  he  was  cheerful,  kind,  and  a 
'white'  man,  if  ever  one  lived.  Yet  with  all  my  heart 


THE  SEARCHERS  263 

I  wish  that  I  had  never  seen  him,  for  It  was  through 
him  that  I  first  heard  of  the  Glen  Ciuin  jewels. 

"He  loved  to  speak  of  the  Old  Country.  Many  a 
night  when  the  camp  was  quiet  I  joined  him  in  his 
quarters,  and  the  talk  harked  back  to  his  younger  days 
in  the  North.  Little  thought  had  I  of  the  dark  road 
down  which  a  chance  remark  of  his  was  to  lead  me.  A 
few  belongings  had  stuck  to  him  in  his  wanderings — 
a  photograph  or  two,  a.  water-colour  sketch  of  the 
Glen,  perhaps  ten  or  a  dozen  books.  One  night — it  is 
etched  on  my  brain — I  happened  to  look  at  the  water- 
colour.  The  talk  drifted  to  folklore,  genealogy,  and 
so  forth.  Clan  traditions  were  touched  on,  and  he 
showed  me  a  little  piece  of  paper,  a  duplicate  of  on"e 
at  The  Bield  which  had  been  in  his  family  for  genera- 
tions. It  was  supposed  to  be  part  of  a  clue  to  some 
lost  jewels.  He  regarded  it  merely  as  a  curiosity,  but 
he  had  carried  the  paper  about  with  him  so  long  that 
as  a  matter  of  sentiment,  he  did  not  care  to  burn  it. 
Truth  to  tell,  I  was  not  interested  in  it,  and  neither 
was  he. 

"I  fancy  that  Hugh  Forbes  never  could  stick  long 
at  one  job,  and  I  was  not  surprised  when  he  threw  up 
his  post  in  the  contractor's  office  and  said  good-bye. 
He  promised  to  send  his  address,  but  I  never  received 
it.  He  was  the  only  gentleman  I  had  met  at  close 
quarters  for  years,  and  when  he  left  I  felt  very  much 
alone. 

"The  only  other  man  whom  I  met  at  your  uncle's 
was  an  Italian.  He  was  one  of  the  overseers,  a  suave 
old  man  of  education  and  capacity,  a  good  linguist, 
travelled,  interesting,  and  of  an  imperturbable  tem- 
per. I  suspected  that  he  had  a  history.  One  does  not 
find  his  type  herding  Italian  navvies.  You  will  be  in- 


264  THE  SEARCHERS 

terested  to  learn  that  his  name,  or  the  name  the  old 
fox  chose  to  go  under,  was  Benedetto  Alfieri. 

"After  your  uncle  left,  old  Benedetto  asked  me  to 
attend  a  fellow-countryman  of  his  who  was  ill.  I  went, 
expecting  to  see  one  of  the  wage-grubbing  Dago  crowd; 
but  I  found  an  exceedingly  handsome  and  well-bred- 
looking  man,  palpably  out  of  place  in  his  environment. 
I  wish  my  first  visit  had  been  my  last,  for  he  was  the 
man  with  whom  I  have  just  been  forced  to  settle  ac- 
counts— Guidotti.  When  first  I  saw  him  he  was  pretty 
far  gone  with  typhoid.  Thanks  to  his  constitution  of 
steel,  I  pulled  him  through ;  but  it  was  a  long  time  be- 
fore he  was  fit  to  crawl  out,  and  I  saw  him  every  day, 
and  became — worse  luck ! — friendly  with  him. 

"About  this  time  my  employer  completed  the  slow 
process  of  drinking  himself  to  death,  and  I  was  offered 
his  post.  I  hesitated,  for  I  was  sick  of  the  life  in  the 
place;  and  when  Guidotti,  who  seemed  to  have  plenty 
of  money  and  was  grateful  to  me,  offered  to  pay  my 
passage  home,  I  jumped  at  the  chance.  Would  to  God 
that  I  had  remained  where  I  was,  at  honest  work!  I 
came  with  him  to  London. 

"I  need  not  narrate  the  story  of  my  downfall.  My 
scientific  knowledge  interested  Guidotti,  and  his  was 
a  dominant  and  in  some  ways  a  fascinating  personality. 
In  the  end  I  joined  'The  Searchers,'  and  took  their 
oath.  He  confided  in  me,  and  told  me  the  origin  of 
the  gang's  name:  how  they  had  kept  from  generation 
to  generation  one  half  of  a  certain  paper  which  had 
long  ago  been  taken  (stolen,  of  course)  from  the  Vati- 
can's archives;  that  the  other  half  was  in  existence 
somewhere,  and  that  the  junction  of  the  two  would 
establish  a  clue  to  hidden  wealth. 

"At  first  I  thought  Guidotti's  story  of  the  paper 
fantastic;  but  when  he  let  me  see  'The  Searchers' '  half 


THE  SEARCHERS  265 

of  it,  I  could  hardly  believe  my  eyes,  and  blurted  out, 
'Why,  the  Englishman  Forbes  who  used  to  be  in  the 
railway  camp  showed  me  the  other  half!'  I  could  have 
bitten  my  tongue  out  the  moment  afterwards.  Ques- 
tions showered  on  me.  Who  was  Forbes?  Where 
was  he?  Had  he  written  me?  What  had  he  said 
about  the  paper?  Had  I  read  it?  Could  I  remember 
it?  Guidotti's  intense  and  unconcealed  excitement 
steadied  me,  putting  a  curb  on  my  tongue.  I  told  them 
the  truth — that  I  knew  nothing  of  Hugh  Forbes' 
whereabouts  or  whether  he  was  dead  or  alive,  and  that 
I  had  not  paid  the  slightest  attention  to  the  paper. 
But  I  did  not  tell  them  the  whole  truth — that  I  knew 
that  its  duplicate  was  in  Glen  Ciuin.  Never  a  word 
did  I  let  fall  that  might  have  put  Guidotti  on  the  track 
of  the  paper  at  The  Bield.  I  knew  my  man.  He 
would  have  used  my  knowledge,  and  given  me  a  jackal's 
share  of  the  spoil. 

"In  a  week  I  had  thought  out  the  general  idea  of 
a  scheme.  I  kept  the  secret  of  the  whereabouts  of  the 
duplicate  to  myself,  and  set  to  work  devising  ways  and 
means  whereby  I  might  get  a  copy  of  the  paper  which 
'The  Searchers'  held.  Guidotti  kept  all  the  arcana 
of  the  brotherhood  at  his  own  house,  but  I  had  hopes 
of  one  of  the  gang  called  Salvi.  His  position  was  in- 
definite. He  was  next  in  importance  to  Benedetto,  a 
sort  of  half-secretary,  half-factotum  of  Guidotti,  and 
a  man  devoured  by  an  overmastering  vulgar  passion — 
the  love  of  money.  It  took  me  a  couple  of  months  to 
ingratiate  myself  with  the  creature,  but  in  the  end  he 
rose  to  a  bribe,  and  agreed  to  copy  the  paper  for  me 
at  the  first  opportunity.  This  required  a  considerable 
time;  but  while  I  was  waiting  impatiently  for  him  to 
earn  his  money,  there  came  a  strange  fall  of  the  cards. 

"One  day  I  was  turning  over  a  medical  journal,  when 


266  THE  SEARCHERS 

an  advertisement  caught  my  eye.  I  read  and  re-read 
it.  It  concerned  a  country  practice  for  sale  in — of 
all  places — Glen  Ciuin !  Fate  had  given  me — nay,  had 
thrust  the  cards  into  my  hands.  Could  I  play  them? 
No  sudden  lucky  snatch  at  a  trump,  but  a  carefully 
conceived  plan!  I  had  come  secretly  to  loathe  'The 
Searchers.'  Guidotti,  with  all  his  open-handedness  and 
display,  was  living  hand-to-mouth.  Successful  coups 
were  necessary  to  keep  him  afloat  and  as  money  became 
scarcer,  he  grew  more  domineering  and  unbearable. 
Our  temperaments  clashed.  Why  should  not  I,  by  one 
stroke,  break  from  him  and  the  gang,  and  further  my 
design  on  the  paper  at  The  Bield?  To  practice  under 
another  man's  name  would  be  a  risk,  but  the  number 
of  undetected  cases  is  surprising.  My  scheme  took 
definite  outline. 

"I  had  a  little  money  saved,  enough  to  serve  my 
purpose,  and  the  name  of  the  dead  doctor — Hall — 
of  the  railway  camp  in  South  America  suggested  itself 
at  once.  Personation  is  never  an  easy  undertaking, 
but  Hall's  name  was  not  an  uncommon  one;  he  had 
been  abroad  for  years;  in  life  he  had  no  link  with  the 
North;  I  knew  something  of  his  history;  I  was  familiar 
with  his  looks  and  his  colouring;  to  make  up  like  him 
would  not  be  a  difficult  matter. 

"I  found  out  that  the  practice  in  the  Glen  was  a 
fair  one,  and — most  important  this  ! — the  owner  of 
The  Bield  was  a  patient  of  the  former  doctor.  I  .had 
no  time  to  lose,  for  medical  practices  are  disposed  of 
quickly.  So  one  fine  morning  a  dark,  clean-shaven  gen- 
tleman, 'Dr.  Hall,'  began  practice  in  the  quiet  northern 
Glen.  'The  Searchers'  knew  the  red-haired  Royce — 
that  was  the  name  I  then  passed  under — no  more.  I 
had  dropped  out  suddenly  and  completely,  concealing 
my  whereabouts  even  from  Salvi.  His  letters  to  me 


THE  SEARCHERS  267 

were  sent  to  an  address  which  I  had  given  him,  and 
were  then  forwarded  to  me.  He  wrote  me  that  Gui- 
dotti  and  Benedetto  were  puzzled  and  suspicious  about 
my  sudden  disappearance,  and  could  assign  no  reason 
for  it. 

"The  practice  grew.  I  made  a  number  of  friends, 
and  one  of  them,  as  I  had  fervently  hoped,  was  the 
colonel. 

"Two  or  three  months  passed  before  Salvi  had  an 
opportunity  of  copying  the  paper,  but  at  last  a  tele- 
gram from  him  was  forwarded  asking  me  to  meet  him 
at  a  rendezvous  in  Leith.  If  I  arrived  first  I  was  to 
wait  for  him.  From  the  Glen  I  went  to  Leith,  and  lay 
low  for  three  days.  The  rendezvous  was  not  one 
suited  for  a  decently  dressed  professional  man  to  be 
seen  at,  and  it  was  quite  possible  that  a  stray  patient 
might  recognise  me.  By  the  end  of  the  three  days 
the  clean-shaven  doctor  had  disappeared,  and  in  his 
stead  was  a  sandy-haired,  shabbily  dressed  vulgarian. 
Doubtless  you  remember  M'Nair!  Two  days  after- 
wards Salvi  turned  up  with  the  paper,  but  in  a  state  of 
pitiable  terror.  He  had  very  nearly  been  caught  in 
the  act  of  stealing  it,  and  had  just  had  time  to  pocket  it. 
He  had  no  chance  of  copying  and  replacing  it,  and  he 
knew  that  when  'The  Searchers'  missed  it — as  they 
speedily  would — swift  and  certain  vengeance  would 
follow.  I  don't  blame  the  poor  devil  for  being  in  a 
cold  sweat.  I  once  saw  a  suspected  member  of  'The 
Searchers'  when  Guidotti  was  persuading  him  to  con- 
fess. I  don't  want  to  see  another. 

"Salvi  lost  his  nerve,  and,  like  a  fool,  bolted  and 
hid  in  London.  'The  Searchers,'  at  once  on  the  alert, 
discovered  the  theft.  (Guidotti  told  me  a  few  hours 
ago  that  he  divined  instantly  that  Salvi  was  in  league 
with  me.)  They  were  soon  hot  on  his  track,  but  he 


268  THE  SEARCHERS 

managed  to  shake  them  off,  and  after  a  couple  of  days 
in  hiding,  got,  as  he  thought,  clear  away  to  Edinburgh. 
My  own  belief  is  that  from  the  first  they  never  lost 
sight  of  him,  and  meant  to  capture  or  kill  us  both. 

"Terror-stricken,  convinced  that  he  was  a  doomed 
man,  Salvi  was  a  helpless  hindrance.  The  problem 
of  getting  him  safely  away  almost  baffled  me.  But  one 
night  there  came  a  dense  fog.  You  remember  it.  I 
gave  him  his  choice  between  risking  slipping  out 
under  its  cover  along  with  me  or  being  left  to  his  own 
devices.  He  came.  We  managed  a  nasty  fifteen  feet 
drop  from  a  back-window  and  with  the  precious  bit 
of  paper  in  my  pocket-book,  rolled  up  to  resemble  a 
cigarette,  made  off  quietly  up  Leith  Walk.  But  the 
devils  were  too  many  for  us.  They  must  have  been 
watching  like  cats  at  a  mouse-hole,  and  when  he  were 
in  Durham  Place — a  quiet  enough  street  for  their  pur- 
pose— Salvi  was  knifed.  There  was  no  scuffle.  He 
dropped  like  a  stone. 

"I  made  off  for  dear  life,  and  in  Jura  Street  just 
missed  the  same  fate,  for  the  sailor-man  with  the  ear 
rings,  beside  the  railings,  was  Guidotti  himself — dis- 
guised, of  course;  but  I  knew  his  voice.  He  heard  my 
running  footsteps,  and  closed  with  me.  Luckily,  I  man- 
aged to  swerve  in  time,  and  doubled  back  with  nothing 
worse  than  a  cut  shoulder.  Then  came  our  strange 
meeting  when  I  collapsed  at  your  door.  I  knew  you 
at  once,  and  thanked  my  stars  that  I  had  dropped  my 
doctor's  disguise  and  was  my  sandy-haired  self.  Let 
me  concede  that  self-preservation  compelled  me  to  act 
somewhat  disingenuously  under  your  hospitable  roof." 

"'Disingenuously'  is  good.  A  cool  customer!  He 
lied  most  skilfully  for  half-an-hour,  didn't  he?"  com- 
mented Tony.  "But  go  on,  Neil." 

"My  knowledge  of  dialect  was  useful  (I  regret  to 


THE  SEARCHERS  2691 

say  that  I  have  some  Scots  blood)  and  for  the  night 
I  appeared  as  'M'Nair,'  the  bewildered  clerk,  and  de- 
posited my  pocket-book  and  some  odds  and  ends  with 
you,  as  evidence  of  my  bona  fides.  I  didn't  want  any 
police  meddling!  After  I  left,  a  shave,  a  little  atten- 
tion to  details  such  as  the  colour  of  my  hair,  and  a 
change  of  clothes  transformed  me  into  Dr.  Hall  again, 
and  a  few  hours  afterwards  I  called  in  your  absence 
and  recovered  my  pocket-book  and  its  contents.  Had 
you  been  at  home  I  should  have  introduced  myself 
as  your  uncle's  doctor — which,  by  the  way,  I  did  about 
one  o'clock  on  the  same  day,  when  I  met  you  by  acci- 
dent at  the  Caledonian. 

"You  know  the  rest,  all  except  the  darkest  chap- 
ter— one  so  dark  that  I  hesitate  to  set  it  down.  But 
the  sands  are  running  out.  I  shall  tell  it  to  you. 

"I  returned  to  my  quiet  country  practice  with  my 
half  of  the  precious  paper.  Could  I  contrive  to  get 
a  copy  of  the  other  half  at  The  Bield,  what  a  vista 
opened  to  me !  Means  to  pursue  my  research-work, 
fame,  rehabilitation,  victory  over  the  crass  blockheads 
who  had  ruined  me.  Call  it  revenge  on  the  world  if 
you  choose.  The  world  had  treated  me  scurvily,  and 
I  had  no  scruples  in  getting  even  with  it.  I  saw  my- 
self, my  back  turned  on  the  black  and  meagre  years, 
snapping  my  fingers  at  Fate.  But  no  man  escapes  the 
reckoning.  The  Devil,  with  all  his  faults,  keeps  his 
appointments. 

"The  plan  was  designed  to  turn  the  slightest  sus- 
picion from  myself,  and  induce  the  colonel  to  show 
me  the  paper.  An  atmosphere  of  disquiet  was  essential 
and  I  created  one.  The  prowler  who  left  imprints  of 
large,  peculiarly  marked  boots  was,  as  you  now  know, 
myself.  I  lied  about  the  man  with  the  melodeon.  He 
never  existed.  Nor  was  there  any  one  who  consulted 


270  THE  SEARCHERS 

me — it  was  I  who  left  the  tell-tale  footprints  in  the 
Afries  Wood.  The  scheme  succeeded  up  to  a  point. 
Although  the  colonel  spoke  to  me  about  the  mysterious 
prowler,  it  was  a  long  time  before  I  managed  to  locate 
the  paper.  But  bit  by  bit,  a  hint  here,  a  casual  ques- 
tion there,  I  found  out  that  it  was  in  the  little  hidden 
safe,  and  that  the  colonel  kept  the  key  on  his  person. 
So  far,  so  good.  I  played  a  waiting  game,  and  lost  no 
opportunity  of  impressing  you  with  my  concern  for  the 
colonel's  health. 

"From  him  I  learned  about  your  brush  with  the  gang 
in  Duff  Avenue  and  the  news  shook  me.  I  was  hor- 
ribly certain  that  Guidotti  would  discover  your  connec- 
tion with  The  Bield,  and  find  his  way  there.  If  that 
happened,  my  fate  was  sure,  for  my  disguise  would  not 
deceive  him.  Both  of  us  had  occasionally  found  it 
prudent  to  change  our  appearance. 

"Every  day  brought  the  danger  nearer.  Delay 
might  mean  disaster.  I  dismissed  the  thought  of  try- 
ing to  break  into  the  safe.  I  was  not  a  professional 
cracksman,  and  the  safe  was  a  fire-and-burglar-proof 
one.  I  decided  to  play  a  bolder  and  a  safer  stroke. 
The  colonel  himself  would  be  the  witness  of  the  dark 
Prowler's  theft  of  the  paper! 

"To  have  doped  him  with  an  ordinary  sleeping- 
draught  would  have  been  easy,  but  it  might  have  caused 
suspicion  to  fall  on  myself.  When  I  joined  'The 
Searchers,'  Guidotti  showed  me,  among  many  queer 
things,  a  mysterious  poison  of  peculiar  power,  which, 
he  said,  had  been  in  their  hands  for  hundreds  of  years. 
He  may  have  been  lying,  but  the  drug  was  quite  un- 
known to  me,  and  my  own  view  is  that  it  actually  had 
been  handed  down  from  mediaeval  Italian  days. 

"  'The  Searchers' '  drug  fascinated  me,  and  Gui- 
dotti, knowing  this,  had  given  me  access  to  it  when  I 


THE  SEARCHERS  271 

chose.  I  made  countless  experiments  with  it  on  ani- 
mals and  twice  on  myself,  studying  it  patiently  and 
thoroughly  until  my  labour  was  rewarded.  I  mastered 
it,  and  decided  to  administer  it  to  the  colonel.  It  has 
similar  properties  to  the  well-known  drug  curare,  with 
which  the  South  American  Indians  poison  their  arrows. 
Like  curare,  it  paralyses  the  motor  nerves,  but  for  a 
purpose  such  as  mine  it  has  tremendous  advantages 
over  curare.  It  is,  for  example,  tasteless;  it  can  be 
administered  in  a  liquid;  and  if  death  occurs,  it  re- 
solves into  cadaveric  alkaloids,  the  metamorphosis  ren- 
dering it  untraceable.  I  had  foreseen  the  possibility  of 
my  being  forced  to  use  it;  hence  my  suggestion  to  you 
that  the  colonel's  heart  was  weak,  and  that  a  sudden 
shock  might  be  dangerous.  But  I  swear  that  murder 
was  never  in  my  mind.  I  had,  I  thought,  tested  the 
drug  until  the  results  of  its  action  were  mathematically 
certain.  At  the  worst  I  anticipated  that  the  colonel 
might  be  in  bed  for  two  or  three  days  after  my  giving 
him  it. 

"Now  I  come  to  the  'burglary.'  It  was  a  night  of 
wild  wind.  I  sat  with  the  colonel  until  about  half-past 
ten  o'clock,  and  slipped  the  dose  of  the  drug  into  his 
glass  when  I  was  helping  myself  to  soda-water  at  the 
sideboard.  I  left  shortly  afterwards,  went  back  to  my 
house  and  waited.  I  knew  to  a  minute  when  to  return. 
Having  changed  into  the  black-bearded  one  with  the 
hob-nailed  boots,  on  the  stroke  of  twelve  I  made  an 
easy  entrance  to  The  Bield.  I  had  seen  to  the  un- 
fastening of  the  gunroom  window.  I  found  the  col- 
onel exactly  as  I  had  anticipated — paralysed,  speech- 
less, but  conscious  of  what  was  going  on.  Nothing 
could  have  been  better.  Any  evidence  by  him  after- 
wards (as  was  actually  given  in  his  deposition)  would 
make  it  clear  that  the  person  who  had  entered  the 


272  THE  SEARCHERS 

room  was  identical  with  the  prowler.  I  would  be  the 
last  man  in  the  world  to  be  suspected.  I  took  his  key 
and  his  papers  from  his  pocket,  and  opened  the  safe 
before  his  eyes.  In  a  few  minutes  I  was  back  in  my 
house,  and  found  that  the  paper  from  the  safe  for 
which  I  had  risked  so  much  was  an  illegible  half-sheet, 
yellow  with  age,  and  the  papers  from  the  colonel's 
pockets  were  trivial!  I  burned  them  all  on  the  spot 
and  hastened  off  to  visit  a  night-patient  down  the  Glen. 
On  my  return,  as  I  expected,  I  found  waiting  an  urgent 
summons  to  The  Bield. 

"There  I  saw  at  once  that  the  colonel  had  not  long 
to  live.  I  shall  not  describe  my  feelings.  You  would 
not  believe  me.  I  had  over-estimated  his  powers  of 
resistance,  and  I  was,  therefore,  the  cause  of  his  death; 
but,  on  the  brink  of  the  Unknown,  I  tell  you  that  it  is 
false  to  say  that  I  designed  it. 

"With  his  death,  my  hope  of  getting  the  paper  was 
farther  off  than  ever,  and  the  possibility  of  Guidotti's 
appearance  in  the  Glen  haunted  every  moment.  I 
had  almost  made  up  my  mind  to  vanish  abroad  again, 
when  your  friend  Keene-Leslie  had  a  conversation  with 
me  in  the  Laird's  Room.  He  was  communicative 
enough  to  show  me  a  copy  of  your  paper,  and  careless 
enough  to  leave  it  where  I  could  lay  hands  on  it.  I 
thought  him  much  too  confiding,  but  to-day's  events 
have  caused  me  to  revise  this  view.  I  regret  that  I 
shall  not  be  able  to  follow  his  career.  He  ought  to  go 
far. 

"I  took  the  paper  from  the  escritoire,  copied  and 
replaced  it.  Next  day  I  watched  you  leave,  as  I 
thought,  for  the  South.  In  the  evening  I  started  for 
the  Chanter  Corrie.  At  nightfall  I  hid  in  Glenmore 
Forest,  and  at  daybreak  went  up  the  Larig,  never 
dreaming  that  you  were  there,  waiting  for  me.  Nor 


THE  SEARCHERS  273 

did  I  know  that  my  worst  fear  had  come  true.  Gui- 
dotti  was  here — had  seen  and  recognised  me.  After 
the  Duff  Avenue  affair,  he  had  lain  low  for  a  time; 
but  having  discovered  your  Edinburgh  address  from 
the  letters  which  Benedetto  had  taken  from  your 
pockets  in  the  car,  he  had  traced  you  to  the  Glen.  The 
luck  of  his  master  the  Devil  followed  him,  for  in  trac- 
ing you  he  found  me.  All  this  I  got  from  his  own 
jeering  lips  a  few  minutes  before  his  death.  Through 
one  of  the  village  hotel  windows,  he  had  seen  me  pass- 
ing in  my  car,  and  as  I  had  used  a  similar  disguise  in 
his  company  in  many  a  left-hand  business,  he  recog- 
nised me.  He  watched,  saw  me  start  for  the  hills, 
and  followed  later  under  cover  of  the  dark;  but  he 
lost  me,  and  at  dawn  found  himself  near  the  Larig, 
below  Muichdhui. 

"You  saw  the  rest.  When  Guidotti  confronted  me, 
I  pretended  to  give  in,  surrendered  my  revolver  and 
pocket-book,  and  to  gain  time  told  him  that  I  believed 
the  cache  of  the  jewels  to  be  near  the  top  of  the  Goats' 
Ladder.  But  although  I  felt  sure  the  secret  was  in 
the  lining  of  my  pocket-book,  not  for  all  the  jewels  in 
the  world  would  I  have  shared  it  with  him.  I  knew 
that,  sooner  or  later,  he  meant  to  kill  me.  It  was  my 
life  or  his — and  I  took  his. 

"And  now — FINIS.    Crasf    Ubi  ero,  eras?" 


CHAPTER  XXXVII 

SUCH  was  the  strange,  sad  record  of  wasted  power 
and  the  searing  consciousness  of  it;  courage  and  re- 
source sapped  and  perverted  by  the  insidious  poison 
of  self-pity  and  the  corrosion  of  revenge;  and  the  end 
— the  glissade  to  the  abyss. 

Tony  had  taken  the  note-book  leaves. 
1  'As  a  man  sows,'  "  he  said.  "A  remarkable  crim- 
inal, but  I  think  that  he  has  given  us  the  truth !  I  be- 
lieve that  I  know  who  he  was.  I  remember  a  strange 
story  of  unwarrantable  experiments  on  human  beings 
by  a  scientist  of  great  promise,  but  a  man  with  an 
idee  fixe." 

"Paranoia?" 

"Probably.  It  has  afflicted  more  people  than  the 
world  has  any  idea  of,  from  mediaeval  saints  to  modern 
panacea-mongers.  I  prefer  not  to  name  some  of  the 
latter." 

"He  began  with  fine  aspirations." 

"Yes.  To  this  man  the  first  steps  of  the  descent 
must  have  been  Avernus  itself.  He  believed  passion- 
ately that  he  had  been  unjustly  dealt  with,  but  I  doubt 
if  his  mind  ever  became  normal  after  it  gave  way. 
Certainly  his  cunning  and  treachery  were  as  abnormal 
as  his  mentality.  Just  consider  his  patience  and  in- 
genuity, his  nerve  and  caution,  his  creation  of  the 
'atmosphere  of  disquiet'  at  The  Bield,  and  the  diver- 
sion of  all  suspicion  from  himself.  An  extraordinary 
study  in  criminology!" 

274 


THE  SEARCHERS  275 

"Yet  there  are  glimpses  of  finer  issues." 

"No  doubt.  'Revenge'  (although  he  uses  the  word 
himself)  does  not  fit  his  story.  Certainly  his  was  not 
blood-lust  or  the  revenge  of  the  savage,  but  a  fierce 
desire  to  regain  the  place  which  he  thought  was  stolen 
from  him  and  to  wrest  back  recognition  from  the 
world.  Nor  was  money  a  goal  in  itself." 

"The  sudden  chance  of  wealth  which  he  discovered 
after  he  had  joined  'The  Searchers'  was  to  be  his  in- 
strument. " 

"That  is  my  view.  His  obsessed  mind  became  his 
tyrant  and  not  his  agent.  Heaven  knows  if,  even  in 
his  youth,  he  was  ever  anything  more  than  a  thinking 
machine.  Picture  a  world  of  thinking  machines,  Neil, 
with  its  all-round  lowering  of  moral  values !  He  be- 
came a  thing  without  heart  or  soul,  a  mechanism  in- 
stead of  a  man." 

There  was  silence  as  he  slowly  turned  over  the 
leaves. 

"Aphorisms  on  the  brink  of  death  are  rare,"  he 
went  on  with  unwonted  gravity.  "He  writes:  'The 
Devil  .  .  .  keeps  his  appointments.'  But  there  is  an 
older  and  a  surer  promise,  isn't  there,  Neil?  I  think 
it  runs :  'For  those  who  obey  my  laws  ...  I  will  have 
mercy.'  .  .  .  Let  us  go  home." 

Tired  though  we  were,  the  return  journey  would 
have  been  set  about  at  once,  but  when  we  looked  up  to 
the  saddle  of  the  Pass  the  ground  was  blanketed  by  the 
white  fleece  of  a  summer  mist — not  an  uncommon 
weather  caprice  on  a  hot,  windless  day  in  the  Larig. 
Malcolm  and  Duncan  prophesied  that  it  would  clear 
in  a  couple  of  hours,  but  it  was  late  in  the  evening  ere 
it  lifted  and  we  turned  our  faces  towards  the  Glen. 

By  the  time  we  had  breasted  the  slope  up  to  the 
col,  darkness  hovered  over  the  Pass,  silent  shadows 


276  THE  SEARCHERS 

gathering  for  their  nightly  tryst.  The  last  red  spark 
of  the  dying  sun  flickered  and  dipped  out  of  sight  be- 
hind far  western  hills,  its  afterglow  short-lived  in  the 
sombre  fastnesses  around  us.  Colour  and  outline  were 
lost  as  the  sun  lowered.  Muichdhui's  deep  red  was 
the  last  to  surrender,  and  then  Night — stars  acclaim- 
ing her — scaled  the  mountains. 

The  descent  now  became  easier  as  the  Pass  widened. 
Soon  we  struck  a  path  in  the  heather  through  the  foot- 
hills, where  the  soft  turf  underfoot  instead  of  the  in- 
exorable granite,  the  neighbourhood  of  friendly  trees 
after  the  relentless  moraines,  and  the  dewy  scent  of 
the  woods — myrrh  and  frankincense — growing  stron- 
ger at  every  step,  brought,  to  one  of  us  at  least, 
solace  and  an  exaltation  of  the  spirit.  The  kindly  host 
of  stars  paled  as  the  early  June  dawn  began  to  stir,  un- 
veiling a  delicate  vista  of  pine-woods  slipping  from 
sable  to  green  pavilions;  the  land  breaking  to  the  val- 
ley; a  link  of  the  distant  river;  and  then — welcome 
sight — a  score  of  white  specks,  the  little  homesteads 
asleep  in  the  peace  of  the  Glen.  Another  couple  of 
hours  through  the  forest,  and  the  old  house  of  The 
Bield,  bathed  in  the  clean  radiance  of  the  morning, 
saluted  us  with  kindling  eyes.  The  lost  casket  had  at 
last  come  to  its  rightful  owner's  door. 

Treasure-trove,  especially  when  in  the  shape  of 
precious  stones,  is  appraised  by  the  wonder-loving  at 
fanciful,  even  fantastic  sums.  Whether  the  Glen  Ciuin 
jewels  warrant  such  glamorous  Arabian  Nights'  esti- 
mates is  a  question  which  need  not  concern  this  story, 
but  as  the  amount  of  a  man's  possessions,  not  their 
history,  focusses  his  neighbours'  interest,  let  me  say  that 
perhaps  a  cynic  might  arrive  somewhere  near  their 
value  by  pondering  on  the  number  of  hitherto  unsus- 


THE  SEARCHERS  277, 

pected  well-wishers  who  have  expressed  the  hope  that 
my  sudden  wealth  may  not  be  a  source  of  unhappiness. 
I  shall  risk  it. 

Among  the  "diverse  Gemms"  in  the  candlesticks, 
crucifixes  and  rosary  are  eight  magnificent  pigeon's- 
blood  rubies.  With  the  black  pearls  and  the  emerald 
cubes,  re-cut  and  polished,  they  now  belong  to  an  Amer- 
ican potentate  whose  collection  recreates  him  in  his 
breathing  spaces  snatched  between  rounds  of  hammer- 
ing rival  trusts.  To  do  him  justice,  he  collects  things 
not  because  they  are  rare  or  may  prove  to  be  likely 
investments,  but  because  they  are  beautiful,  and  I  sin- 
cerely trust  that  he  derives  as  much  pleasure  from 
them  as  I  do  from  his  dollars. 

The  Lion  Rampant,  which  I  gave  to  Tony  as  a 
souvenir  of  those  hectic  days,  is  well-known  to  con- 
noisseurs on  account  of  the  almost  unique  matching  of 
its  sapphires.  Notwithstanding  its  value,  it  is  a  meagre 
recognition  of  Tony's  services,  but  he  would  accept 
nothing  more.  Especially  would  he  have  nothing  to 
do  with  the  Leopard's  Eye,  for  he  regards  it,  as  I  do, 
with  an  unconquerable  aversion.  To  my  fancy,  its  vel- 
vet depths  change  too  suddenly  to  a  predatory  glower 
and  its  wonderful  "line"  fails  to  hide  the  challenge  of 
a  mocking  Spirit  of  Evil,  imprisoned  and  unrepentant. 
Some  ancient  races  still  hold  the  chrysoberyl  in  strange 
awe  and  I  am  told  that  in  Ceylon — Isle  of  Jewels — a 
true  Cat's-Eye  is  the  last  thing  from  which  a  Cingalese 
will  part.  But  I  have  no  such  whimsies,  and  very  soon 
the  fall  of  the  hammer  will  knock  down  the  Eye  at 
Christie's  and  rejoice  the  August  Order  of  the  Highest 
Bidders. 

As  to  Benedetto,  alias  This,  That,  and  the  Other, 
a  few  weeks  afterwards,  attired  as  an  elderly  cleric,  he 
was  stepping  off  the  steamer  at  Ostend,  when  his  itin- 


278  THE  SEARCHERS 

erary  was  disarranged  by  two  Scotland  Yard  men, 
aided  by  an  Italian  detective  who  knew  him.  (One 
of  the  London  officers,  to  his  own  and  our  delight,  was 
Mr.  Richard  Sparke.)  Recognising  defeat,  their  cap- 
tive took  matters  philosophically  and,  in  all  likelihood 
thankful  that  no  graver  charge  had  to  be  met,  pleaded 
guilty  to  being  in  unlawful  possession  of  forged  notes 
of  an  Italian  bank.  Through  the  powers  that  be,  I 
contrived  a  short  interview  with  him.  Guidotti's 
knowledge  of  my  Uncle  Hugh's  presence  in  Italy  had 
puzzled  me.  Benedetto  cleared  it  up.  He  had  seen 
Hugh  Forbes  by  accident  in  Naples  and  traced  him 
to  the  Italian  village.  For  reasons  of  his  own  (not 
unconnected  with  the  Italian  police,  I  fancy)  he  had 
lain  low  and  communicated  with  his  chief  Guidotti,  then 
in  London.  Guidotti  hurried  to  Italy.  He  failed  to 
get  the  paper  from  Hugh  Forbes  and  on  our  arrival 
a  few  days  afterwards,  Benedetto  recognised  Keene- 
Leslie.  Our  presence  there  spoiled  their  plan  of  "ac- 
quiring"— the  word  is  Benedetto's ! — the  paper.  After 
Hugh  Forbes's  death,  on  the  chance  that  it  was  in  my 
possession,  Benedetto  followed  me  to  Naples.  .  .  . 
"The  Signor  Forbes  had  won.  There  was  no  more 
to  be  said."  .  .  .  He  wished  me  length  of  days  and 
blandly  assured  me  that  he  harboured  no  enmity  either 
to  me  or  the  Signor  Keene-Leslie.  He  had  not  long 
to  live  now,  perhaps  a  few  years,  so  he  said,  but — 
there  was  the  ghost  of  his  old  grin  as  he  gave  me  a 
farewell  bow — he  had  had  a  long  run  for  his  money. 
He  got  a  term  of  penal  servitude,  and  as  the  smooth 
old  villain  was  nearly  seventy,  it  is  extremely  probable 
that  the  rest  of  his  days  will  be  passed  in  company  with 
his  bete  noire — hard,  regular  work. 

Exeunt  "The   Searchers."     The   evil  brotherhood 


THE  SEARCHERS  279 

not  been  heard  of  since,  and  the  authorities  are 
confident  that  it  exists  no  more. 

Tireless,  nerveless  and  alert  as  ever,  happy  in  his 
stirring  vocation  and  unspoiled  by  success,  Anthony 
Keene-Leslie  is  a  man  with  no  enemies,  other  than  his 
natural  ones  who  love  darkness  rather  than  light.  The 
Bield  is,  of  course,  open  house  to  him;  and  when  he 
runs  North  to  the  Glen  we  have  many  a  good  day 
together  on  moor  or  in  the  forest.  Our  friendship 
apart,  he  is  a  thrice  welcome  guest,  for  he  is  a  prince 
of  story-tellers  as  well  as  of  good  fellows.  The  Laird's 
Room,  where  the  old  brass  casket  has  the  place  of 
honour,  often  sees  my  friends  and  myself  chained 
round  the  fire  until  the  small  hours,  listening  to  his  tales 
of  tight  corners. 

No  man  cares  less  for  the  lime-light,  but  one  of 
these  days,  with  his  leave,  I  may  chronicle  some  of  his 
adventures.  He  has  figured  in  many^  but  I  doubt  if 
he  recalls  any  of  them  with  as  keen  a  savour  as  the  one 
wrought  to  its  end^ear  the  high  tops  of  the  Cairn- 
gorms, on  the  day  when  the  Searcher  stepped  into  the 
hush  of  the  Chanter  Corrie. 


THE  END 


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from  which  it  was  borrowed. 


MAY  2  6  1998 


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